Fatale
by Miss Horsehead
Summary: Shana O'Hara's backstory, with a twist. "She didn't look back at her pathetic father or the house. Of course, the most pathetic one here was her. She was being shipped off, for, let's see, the fifth time?" Based on Scarlett's flashbacks during Renegades. CHAP 5 P 2 now up. Yay!
1. Prologue: A Lady's Education

DISCLAIMER: I do not claim ownership of or affiliation with G.I. Joe (or the specific franchise G.I. Joe Renegades). All materials belong to their respective copyright holders. I make no profit from this fan fiction.

WARNINGS: Cursing, violence, and sensitive issues that may offend some readers (alcohol and drug abuse, depression, stereotyping, among others). Hopefully, nothing too graphic, but this is rated T, which means if you have delicate sensibilities or are not 13+, you should probably not read this. I would not want to accidentally corrupt the youth. *Cue Angelic Face*

CATEGORIES: Renegades, Scarlett/Shana O'Hara, T, Drama & Friendship (with sides of Humor and Angst)

SUMMARY: Renegades AU. Shana O'Hara's back story, with a twist. "Shana O'Hara was being shipped off to some distant _special_ school, for, let's see, the fifth time?" T for cursing, violence and sensitive issues that may offend individuals.

Fatale

Prologue: A Lady's Education

She drove without looking back at her pathetic father or the house. The house held too many fricking memories.

Of course, the most _pathetic_ thing was, she would go. Like a good little girl. She wouldn't detour to, say, her boyfriend's house in Louisiana for two weeks, or her BFF's home to crash. Mostly because long-term relationships were really not worth it, so she'd never bothered cultivating them. It was like growing weeds, eventually they choked you and tore off the skin on your hands when you tried removing them.

So. Where was Shana O'Hara being sent?

Shana O'Hara was being shipped off to some distant, Godforsaken hellhole for, let's see, the fifth time? No, sixth, because of that one really short stay-only four months and three weeks, a new record.

Ha.

This time, it was a military school. For senior year. And she'd been sent in early. If that wasn't horror enough, it was an all-girls military school. An all-girls military school that had the most ridiculous uniforms-like they were off Sailor Moon. Sure, those uniforms worked in anime, but Shana was definitely not a Magical Girl.

If she was, she would definitely magic herself back nine years and-Okay, Shana, stop. Don't even go there.

Don't even. Go there. No.

Actually, she recalled, the other hellholes had been rather nice, once she'd stopped caring. And God, wasn't that an O'Hara trait, definitely passed down from her father the _scientist_-

No. No, no, no, no.

Not ever. Never ever. Don't think about that, Shana. Just build up your walls. Don't think, don't even care. Don't.

Damn, seeing her father always made her want a cigarette. She'd promised to quit after he found out she was smoking. She had, but now...why the hell not?

Cigarettes, she mused, were perfect. You could kill yourself slowly with them. They were even borderline socially acceptable. And in the crowds she ran with, you needed something as an excuse to pass up the drugs and the alcohol. _Oh, I'm just gonna smoke a cigarette. You want one?_

She was in control with cigarettes, but not with weed or copious amounts of cheap beer. It amused her to see everyone else fall out of control, though. Peeing their pants and groping one another. Anyone who tried that on her, though, would get an introduction to her right cross.

Double Ha.

She'd never been popular, never had a coterie of pretty friends/sycophants. Too much of a threat to the pretty girls, the brainiacs, the athletes (both genders, thank you)...everyone, basically.

She was the exotic animal, rare, beautiful and prone to biting your fingers off (DANGEROUS: DO NOT FEED). Boys found her attractive, the types who thought they were big men, real bad boys. It was a game to them, trying to "win" her. As if she could be won, like some cheap kiddy toy at a fair. She could always beat them half to death if they wanted too much, tried too hard. She'd done it before.

But really, it was a game for her, too. See how close you can get without giving yourself away and letting them know this is just a diversion. Just a high school/college romance, a few broken hearts, no biggie.

Of course, yeah, she'd date older guys (college, exhibit A), but no one really old. That was when you got into the real perverts, the pedo-guys in trench coats with cameras. Because, you know, nothing screams child-molester/stalker like a trench coat. And a baseball cap.

She'd become really good at being a chameleon, blending in and giving people what they wanted. Because as long as you were what they expected, people left you alone. Of course, you have to have some aura of mystery to get people interested, keep 'em guessing. But for Authority Figures (cue the angry principal), the contrite "bad" girl, damaged by the loss of her mother (no female Role Model, so sad) and her father's typical male cluelessness about his child, usually worked. Poor kid, she wasn't bad at all, just misguided.

(Cue Cro-Magnon male, beating hairy chest.)

Of course, her father was no Cro-Magnon. She fingered the necklace chain of the locket he'd given her. A college professor couldn't be stupid, but socially he could be a bit awkward. Her mother had always-

OH NO YOU DON'T. NO. JUST NO. DON'T THINK ABOUT IT, ITWILLALLGOAWAYISWEAR.

Soon as she saw a gas station/cheap junk mart, she was getting a pack of cigarettes. Scratch that. Two.

Hell. Maybe she'd just buy out the place, take all the packs they had, and smoke her way to lung cancer.

Not like she had much to live for, anyway. No purpose. Like that cheap kiddy junk at fairs, shabbily made at bargain prices and shoved into some godforsaken cabinet. And by godforsaken cabinet, she meant military school.

_Frick._

(Obnoxiously Long) A/N: Feedback is greatly appreciated. I will answer any questions in the next chapter's author's note (as long as answering those questions won't give my plot points away!).

I will try to update this in either a few days or a few weeks (depends on if I get frustrated and restart everything-and if my computer cooperates with me).

A NOTE ON FUTURE CHAPTERS

This all goes downhill from here: More swearing, some violence, angst, and original characters. Hopefully, my OCs will not shoot lasers from their eyeballs/turn into fairies/other weird stuff. They will mostly be supporting and filler characters.

Anyone have ideas for girls' names, first and last? I'm stuck. I've got one that I like, but the rest are just...ugh. I can't name things, okay?

Speaking of names... the title is Fatale, as in femme fatale, which literally translates from the French to "deadly woman."

And yes, I am planning to introduce some Cobra villains and a ninja. (Later. Be patient. I have to set things up first.)

First Chapter: First official day of school, when Shana is warmly welcomed by a fellow classmate. *Note heavy, heavy verbal irony (scientifically referred to as sarcasm).* She is also called down to the head's office. Wonder why?

I was dragged into this by force. Thank you for reading my drivel!

-Miss Horsehead


	2. Chapter 1: Settling In

Chapter One: Settling In

She made it to the school entrance in precisely six hours, thirty-three minutes, and a half-pack of cigarettes. She'd taken the necklace off halfway through the journey; the unfamiliar weight just below her clavicles annoyed her.

An entrance? Mother of God. They were serious about no one getting out. There was a plain metal chain-link fence, about eight feet tall, with a fricking _checkpoint_ at the gate. Mother of _fricking_ God, security cameras, too.

The lady who'd been working the checkpoint was a beefy one, with horse teeth and thin brown hair in a tight bun, who looked like an angry prison guard-or maybe a guardian of the underworld. Cerberus snarled, "What's your name," with absolutely no interrogative inflection. It sounded like an imperative-"Wash!" "Run!" "What's your name!"

She did not appreciate being asked, "What's yours?" and barked, "Miss Evans. Do you have your student ID and identification papers, O'Hara."

Cerberus was quite possibly the only person Shana had met who could actually pronounce O'Hara the wrong way. She said it more like "Uh-hah-ruh," as if during the first syllable she was being punched violently in her gut, and the last two were her coughing up phlegm.

Cerberus did not appreciate her pronunciation being corrected.

And of _course_ she didn't have the papers. Her father had packed her off to school four weeks early, with a single suitcase, containing some clothes, fifty dollars, and the school brochure ("SIMPLE LIVING IS GOOD FOR GIRLS"), but no ID papers. Oh, and that fricking necklace. Like a guilt gift would make up for this.

"I have my driver's license," Shana said quite reasonably.

"No good. You need ID _papers,_ Uh' Hahruh." Finally, some sort of inflection-a stress on the word _papers_.

But this was getting ridiculous. "Don't you have a computer in that checkpoint booth? You can check my name in it, can't you?"

Cerberus stared at Shana suspiciously, like she was trying to pull a fast one. Because all robbers/con artists/murderers picked military schools out in the boonies as the stage for their crimes. Shana beamed her innocent face. It was all in how you played it, after all. And right now, she just wanted to get out of this car. She was really stiff. Finally, Cerberus grunted, "Yeah."

Cerberus looked down and started typing something. Shana could hear the clack of the keys as she banged them with her meaty paws. There was a light beeping sound. Then another beep. Cerberus finally deigned to look up at Shana. "You're listed. Park in the Student Lot. Go up to the Academic Center. Office's on your right as you go in. Get your papers there." She paused. "Do something about that hair."

"What?" For once, Shana was genuinely confused, not playing dumb or mouthing off.

It didn't matter, though, because Cerberus still frowned. Deep lines etched into her face. She must've frowned a lot. She raised her voice. "YOUR HAIR. NO HAIR DYE IN SCHOOL."

Alright, time to suck up to get through this Goddamn checkpoint. "My hair isn't dyed, miss. It's natural." _Miss._ Bet Cerberus would like that.

Cerberus snorted. Her eyes twitched, as if she was contemplating rolling them, and showing more emotion than ever before. "Let 'em deal with it. Up in the office. Go."

She pressed some hidden button, and the gate opened. It was obviously well-kept-no creaking or electrical hum.

As Shana had driven up the driveway, she'd immediately scoped out everything. It was an ingrained habit from years of being tossed around-you wanted to know who was who, what was what, and where. The driveway diverged into two, each with a sign. The larger one, on the left, said:

AMBROSE ALL-GIRLS MILITARY ACADEMY

HOME OF THE WILD HORSES

STUDENT, PARENT AND BUS PARKING

The smaller one was closed off with a roadblock and had a sign reading:

ON-CAMPUS EDUCATORS' APARTMENTS

On campus? Frick. And educators? These people took themselves way too seriously.

Shana turned the car to the left driveway and continued up. Scrubby, definitely non-native bushes lined both sides of the road. Almost immediately, the buildings came into sight. They were all brick. A short, fat one squatted in between two tall, fat buildings, which looked to be three and four stories high. Judging by the brochure her father had left in her suitcase, which she'd read at a rest stop on the highway, there was a fourth building somewhere. Probably behind these three, which appeared to be connected by concrete walkways.

She pulled into a parking space and decided to give herself a tour before going in to the Academic Center. Really, the brochure had also advocated for "YOUNG WOMEN'S INDEPENDENT THINKING" and what could be more independent-minded than a self guided tour? _That would be the excuse, anyway_, she thought.

Shana shoved her cigarette packs (she'd bought two) in a secret pocket under her seat. That was where she'd hidden the gift necklace after she'd taken it off. She slipped the portable flash drive with her hacking software on it into a pocket on the inside of her shirt and stuffed her car keys in her pants pocket. No doubt her car would be searched for contraband, along with her suitcase. They wouldn't find any; she'd be careful not to get caught before the school year started. A military school would be a new experiment, somewhere to test all her skills (which had been referred to as "vices" by one particular school psychologist, right before Shana swore at her in French and left the office-that was expulsion number three): sneaking around, spying, manipulating her fellow students and the teachers...

Of course, she didn't care if she did get kicked out-at this point, she tried not to care about anything-but why not avoid the company of Dear Old Dad for a few months?

Hell, why not?

Shana closed rolled up the roof and closed the car door tightly, with a _thunk_, before locking it with her keys and replacing then in her pocket. If someone decided to check her car, the alarm would sound, and she'd have a good reason to be hysterical and threaten to sue the school.

Ha.

She strolled across the parking lot, nice and casual. Just a new schoolgirl, getting a look-see at this _ah-mazing _panorama view of concrete, scrubby shrubbery, and brick, with the occasional light glinting off a security cam to highlight the_ stunning_ architecture. And it didn't look _at all_ like a prison, no ma'am. Not _evar-nevar_ could it be.

_Keep this up, Shana_, she thought, _and you'll be fooling yourself. Maybe even thinking that the school color scheme is dee-light-full. Mauve taupe and burnt orange, ("WITH BLACK AND WHITE AS ALTERNATE COMPLEMENTS") now that's a color scheme for the fuckin' ages._

Yeah.

She stepped onto the sidewalk and leaned back a little, looking up.

Okay, so the building to the left of the short fat one, directly across from the student parking lot, was the Academic Center. With the office. It was helpfully labeled in four-foot letters over the entryway in (what else?) mauve taupe. No thank you. Pass.

The fat one was, according to its sign, the MESS HALL. Oooh goody, a military-school cafeteria. And judging from the smelly steam pouring out of a metal, cylindrical chimney, they disinfected everything, but couldn't disguise the scent of nasty, fatty meats and frozen/nuked veggies. Gag.

Shana walked down the sidewalk. This last building was the STUDENT BARRACKS (DORMITORIES). Four stories. Small windows, with wire mesh in them. And security cameras. Not a prison at all, right? Well, as soon as she found the tech department and got her hands on a computer, she could hack the system, easy. After all, she had four weeks. To "settle in" before the "mad rush."

Oh, she'd settle. Thanks, Dear Old Dad.

_"I just don't know how long I'll be away." So you'll let me drive, on my own, to a new school. But not stay home alone._ _That really sums up how screwed up we are, from start to finish, doesn't it, Daddy?_

_Ha. Just, fucking Ha._ Why the hell was she think about this now, anyway? It wasn't like she could change things. _Frick. This is screwing me up. Focus._

Shana rounded a corner, dodging around the Student Barracks. Well, there was a building behind here after all. Thing was huge, too.

She walked around it. Brick. Sprawling. Probably one floor, but with high ceilings: gymnasiums and an auditorium.

The RECREATIONAL AND FITNESS CENTER. Somebody had scrawled "the WRECK" on the doors with multi-colors of spray paint: red, orange, green, blue, black. Huh. Maybe a few people here had some sort of a sense of humor.

Shana held on to that positive thought until she walked a little further down. The actual building only sprawled past the mess hall. Behind the academic center was an obstacle course, complete with climbing ropes, tires, and a mud pit. A mud pit. Frick. At least the climbing ropes and tires would pose no problems. Training in martial arts and gymnastics had kept her agile and limber. What about the others?

Typically, there were a few sporty, athletic girls and then a bunch who moaned that they couldn't do anything that would cause them to break a sweat-or an nail. They were usually the pretty, jealous, preening type with jackass boyfriends. The type that Shana hated the most-and the type that typically went after her. _No freak should be so popular with the boys_, that was a line she heard over and over again. Usually with a more colorful descriptor of her and what, exactly, made her so "popular." Those girls traveled in little packs, backstabbing each other whenever they saw a new opportunity to do so. The trick was getting them to play against each other. Most times, a few well-planted rumors would do it.

This was military school, sure, and an all-girls enrollment took boys out of the equation. Maybe the rules would be a little different, but they always seemed to be, based on where you were. There were jackasses, drama queens, and idiots everywhere, though, so it wouldn't be too much of a challenge...

Probably. There'd never been a Cerberus before, though. Shana smiled. Maybe this would be a challenge.

She'd already figured out where some of the outside cameras where, but something told her there would be more...

Okay, why not check in and get a computer?

She turned to walk back.

-H-

"Here's your papers and your ID card. You carry this card with you at all times. Wear it on its chain around your neck. There is no jewelry and no hair dye allowed on campus." This was said with emphasis.

What was with all these people and Shana's hair? _God_. She was glad she'd taken the necklace off and hidden it; Dear Old Dad's goodbye gift would've gotten her in trouble. Wonder what he'd think of that? Shana accepted the papers and the card, which was about a third of the width of a credit card and half as long. It had her name on it, and a barcode. A fucking barcode, like she was a cereal box. She slipped the chain over her head, still clutching the papers.

She said: "My hair's natural."

"Okay, fine." Ms. Pierce, the head of school, did not like being interrupted. Her displeasure was evident by her piercing blue glare from behind her pince-nez. _Really, who the hell wore that type of glasses anymore?_ That, and a pulsing vein on her forehead, which clearly showed under her pale, tissue-paper skin. The light that was slanting in through the office's window blinds only highlighted it further.

"Anyway, there are a few other girls like you. I believe Alana Somers is also a Final Year- a Senior-and she is currently here. We also have a few First Years-Freshmen-and some Third Years. You all will be staying in your respective barracks. The Final Year barracks are on the first floor. Chose any bed you want, but it won't be permanent. You'll be assigned a partner by random lottery on First Day. Then you'll bunk alphabetically.

As for clothing, you can stay in your street clothes for now. After First Day, you'll wear your academic uniform"-the horrible Sailor Moon one; anime styles really did not work in real life-"during your academic classes, which will be in the afternoon, and your physical training uniform during your fitness classes, in the morning. You will have three of each in the Autumn/Spring style and three in the Winter style. Make sure you take care of them. You will also have one dress uniform. You will pin and iron your badges and ribbons to it."

Ms. Pierce took a deep breath. She was the sort of old lady who you could tell had been tough and ambitious but thwarted when she was young, and now was bitter and domineering. She stood behind the dark wood desk, trying to be imposing, and doing well despite the unfortunate fact she was barely five feet tall.

Or she would have been doing well, if it had been anyone but Shana standing on the other side of the desk.

Lovely.

Before Ms. Pierce could continue, another woman burst into the office, slamming the heavy door into the off-white wall. She was African American, probably around five-four or five-five-only a little shorter than Shana, at five-six-but the three-inch blue heels she was wearing made her look much taller. She was wearing chunky bracelets and necklaces, in bold patterns and colors, which somehow worked with her orange blouse and pink-flowered skinny jeans.

An artistic rebel-type, but not a student. The lines around her eyes and mouth, as well as her overall authoritive demeanor, marked her as a teacher.

"The art department's shipment is late!" She roared. "Now what are you-" She stopped, noticing Shana.

Ah, an art teacher. "Hello, dear. I'm Miss Nichols." She addressed Shana, then turned to Ms Pierce, whose jaw had tightened and lips compressed considerably. Her vein now looked like it was about to burst from her forehead.

"Um, Ms Pierce, my apologies for interrupting. Why don't I get this student settled in? And then come back and talk with you?"

Ms Pierce nodded, curtly. To Shana, she said, "Please hand over your car keys. Your bags will be searched and belongings sent to you." Shana pulled her car keys out of her pants pocket and laid them on the desk. Pierce then pressed a button on her desk, ignoring both Nichols and Shana.

"That's our cue," Miss Nichols said, giggling nervously. Ms Pierce glared and made a dismissive gesture towards the general direction of the door.

As soon as they were out the door and on the sidewalk, Nichols turned to Shana. "You want to poke around the AC and the Wreck before I send you to the barracks?"

Nichols was not a threat. She was the harmless, passionate sort of teacher that wanted her students to be happy and welcome. She was young, so maybe a little silly and idealistic. Shana could use that.

"Sure," she said, in a friendly tone of voice. "I actually poked around a little before. Were you the one who spray-painted 'the WRECK'?"

"Yup. The buildings here are very sturdy, but so boring. I wanted to spice things up a little. What's your name, anyway? I didn't catch it."

"Shana O'Hara."

"Well, nice to meet you. You a Final Year?"

"Yeah, but it's my first year here."

"I'm new, too. It's my second." Nichols laughed. "C'mon, let's go to the AC."

-H-

The AC, as it turned out, was the Academic Center.

"It's three stories, a few departments on each," Nichols explained as they stood just inside doorway. "First story is the STD-"

"What?"

"Science and Tech Departments, but it's easier to abbreviate." She paused, grinned. "And funnier, because none of the newbies know what it means in this context." Nichols giggled.

Okay, so maybe she was a little goofy, too. Trying to relate with the students, and all that.

"So, the STD..." Shana said, looking around. The corridors were painted the same off-white as the office, with school banners on the walls adding some color. There were a few trophy cases built into the walls, too, with trophies and plaques galore crammed inside. Silver and gold gleamed from the cases.

"Next floor, the 4SD-social studies and sciences, like economics. Also on that floor, the MD-mathematics department. On the top floor, the AMD-arts and music-and practical skills classes, like cooking and sewing." She paused and looked like she wanted a response.

"Awesome. I didn't know there would be so much stuff." Shana internally winced. She sounded like such a gushing teenage girl.

Nichols nodded. "Any place in particular you want to check out?"

"Yeah, actually," Shana said, biting her lip a little, like maybe she was anxious. "Umm...the tech department, maybe. I'm kind of a computer nerd," she finished with a shy grin and a light blush.

"Oh, that's totally cool," Nichols said approvingly. "I can barely work a computer mouse, so it's terrific to have somebody who can."

Rebecca Nichols smiled at the student encouragingly. Behind this girl's tough exterior, there was obviously someone who had a passion for tech. Something she seemed to be a little embarrassed by, which was a shame. Rebecca was a firm believer that everyone should embrace their inner nerd, artist, athlete, whatever, as long as it made them happy.

"Do you want to browse the computer programs a bit? I could probably get you a laptop, you'd just need to sign it out. Give you something to do for the next few weeks."

Shana was smiling now. "Cool, thanks! I'd love that." This was easier than she'd thought it'd be.

-H-

Shana walked into the barracks confidently, head held high and laptop in hand. Nichols pointed her to the barracks and promised to go see about Shana's suitcase.

Ha.

She'd just have to play around with the computer for a bit, find the security firewalls and the pass codes. It was good she'd snuck her hacking software in her shirt.

Double Ha.

This was gonna be fun.

The barracks were not bad, actually, she thought as she surveyed them. There was a front corridor, with stairs and an elevator leading off to the other floors. Nichols had explained that in each barrack, there was a front, "community" room, for all the students to spend time in. Behind that was the hall, where the bunk beds were. Everyone in the same grade-year-slept in the same hall. There were only about one hundred to one hundred fifty girls in each year, though.

"It's a private school," Nichols had explained. "There are a bunch of rich donors who fund it, like, you know the guy who runs Cobra Industries? Adam DeCobray, right?"

Shana had tensed up. God-fucking-damn _DeCobray_-

RE-LAX. DON'T THINK ABOUT IT.

Anyway, there were bathrooms and showers, too, behind a door in the hall. That was, according to Nichols, also where the laundry rooms were on each floor.

Okay. Not bad.

Shana walked through the community room, which was decorated with garish mauve taupe and burnt orange sports pennants, and into the hall. There was no official door between the two rooms, just an opening.

She looked around. Boring bunk-beds, with mauve taupe blankets and pillows on them, check. High, meshed windows, check. Angry-looking brown-haired girl...

_Alana Somers._ That's what Pierce had said. The other Final Year.

She was sitting on a bunk, at the far end of the hall, writing something in a composition notebook. Her pencil quit moving momentarily as she looked up, snorted, "Newb-bitch," and returned to whatever it was she was doing.

Shana studied the other girl for a moment. Her hair was loose. It came down to the bottoms of her shoulder blades: straight, stringy and greasy. Brown eyes, judging from the brief glance she'd gotten of them. Maybe hazel? Scrawny-skinny, but tall. And she did have some muscle in her arms, judging by the death grip she had around her pencil.

Not a real threat, just a loner who liked to talk tough. No need to reply-ignoring her would probably piss her off more.

Ha. Ha.

Shana selected the nearest bed and plopped down, opening the laptop to escape to cyberspace.

Maybe, once she'd hacked the school and found all the cameras' blind spots, she could sneak out to her car for a cigarette.

-H-

A/N: Yeah, I know this wasn't the chapter I promised, but I wanted to fill what she'd be doing during those four weeks and give a little more background information about the school. The second chapter will center around First Day (four-week time skip), when the main Cobra villain will be introduced, and there finally is some action. (See, patience does pay off.) I'm trying to get 5-10 pages per chapter.

Anyway, I get points for updating the day after, right? :) Again, I am seriously running out of names...I'd love suggestions. Hope everyone who has read this has enjoyed it so far!

-Horsehead


	3. Chapter 2: First is Worst

Chapter 2: First is Worst

Public Service Announcement: Shana is not a great role model. Don't smoke cigarettes, pick fights, or swear.

-H-

FOUR WEEKS LATER

-H-

Shana watched from the window of the tech department as the other girls unloaded. It was amazing how efficiently everything was conducted. All the girls lined up on the sidewalks, supervised by teachers. Their bags were piled in front of the AC to be searched. Some had come on buses, some in cars. One blonde girl was arguing with Ms Pierce, who had come out to supervise, bullhorn in hand. Shana could lip-read a little, and since the blonde was facing towards the window, she could get a look at what she was saying. Apparently there was some sort of problem with her bags. And, oh...Ms Pierce was apparently an old... _well,__ there's__ an interesting use of an adjective, _Shana thought wryly. She could almost see the vein popping out of the old lady's forehead, though Ms Pierce had her back turned. Pierce raised her bullhorn and blasted out a response. The blonde girl just grinned. It was nice to know there was someone else who thought the old lady was full of crap, and no real threat at all.

Shana scrutinized the blonde girl through the window. She was wearing a low-cut halter top and short shorts along with black stiletto heels. Her straight hair was pulled back in a high, messy pony tail and her long bangs side-swept up off her forehead, held in place by large brown bobby pins. She had too much makeup on and huge, dangly hoop earrings. In short, she looked rather whorish and trashy. She walked confidently, though, with her head held up high. She was probably about five-nine or five-ten without the heels. Which was weird. Most very tall girls didn't accentuate their height, instead preferring to wear flats so they wouldn't tower over boys. Unless, of course, they didn't care...or maybe this was just some dumb new fashion trend. This blonde girl clearly paid a lot of attention to fashion - even if she didn't apply it.

Bored, Shana turned to look at the other incoming students. There were only about five hundred girls, give or take. What was it that Nichols had said? _Only about one hundred to one-fifty in a class._

Yeah.

A few girls caught Shana's eye:

Some tiny Asian girl, who wasn't looking where she was going and tripped on the sidewalk curb, breaking her fall with her hands;

A red-headed, blue-eyed girl who looked like she wanted to shoot someone, with her arms crossed and a frown on her face - who then ruined the image of Tough Girl by bursting out laughing at something someone had said;

A group of three girls, who were dressed similarly to the blonde (but not quite as trashily - maybe her friends?).

It was relatively easy to figure who were the Freshmen - oops, sorry, _First Years_ - in the crowd. Most of them looked rather nervous. They hadn't quite lost the baby-fat look yet, either. Their faces were still soft. Shana's face had never been soft, even when she was younger. It was always sharply defined by her cheekbones and framed by long red hair. One of the reasons she looked older, she supposed. She knew she could pass for early twenties, easily. Give her a little makeup and she could pass for even older. To age down, she'd need to use some Latex on her face, give it some roundness...

The blonde had stomped off to the other girls dressed like her. Shana turned her attention back to them. Two brunettes, one with long, wavy hair and skin so pale she looked like a regular ice princess. Probably a little shorter than Shana - about five-four. The other had a little bit of a tan. She was probably five-seven or -eight. The third girl was a African American with long, elaborate cornrows._ It must've took ages to get her hair like that_, Shana thought. Little beads were braided in to the cornrows, but not the typical rainbow plastic ones - these looked like they were some type of metal. This girl looked about Shana's height. Heavier than her, though, by at least ten pounds.

Shana had never been really heavy - she had the body type typical of a dancer or gymnast: thin with long, wiry muscles, instead of bulk. Her father was always trying to get her to eat more when he was around. When he was gone, she mostly lived on Ramen noodles and sandwiches, because she couldn't cook worth -

JUST DON'T THINK ABOUT IT, SHANA.

It wasn't as if she was unhappy alone. Just lonely, but she'd learned to Deal With It. Especially when Dear Old Dad couldn't -

Shut up. Shut up. SHUT THE FUCKING HELL UP, GOD-FUCKING-DAMMIT. DO. NOT. THINK. ABOUT. THIS.

Shana bit her lip hard enough that her teeth cut through it. Warm, metallic blood flooded out of the cut and into her mouth, diverting her attention from her family. If you could call it that.

She didn't.

-H-

There was a fly on the projector, attracted to the light and slowly burning itself to death.

_Roast, fly, roast._

It was better entertainment than Ms Pierce, anyway. Its shadow was obscuring part of the Power Point slide Pierce was currently rambling on about. After all the girls were lined up and checked off, everyone in the school had been herded into the Wreck's auditorium to hear this inane speech about the school. Shana shifted in her seat. The chairs were like the ones in sports bleachers: hard, unpadded plastic, sticky with some former occupant's butt sweat on the top and bubble gum on the bottom.

Well, this day was just getting better and better. To think she'd actually been anticipating it... Of course, after four weeks with Alana Somers and a couple of Freshmeats and Juniors for company - First Years and Third Years, that is - fresh brains to pick had seemed like a real treat. Key word: _seemed._

After listening to Pierce babble on for almost an hour, Shana had learnt several things.

Apparently, Ambrose Military Academy was founded by Gillian Ambrose back in the late '60s. Pierce had been one of Ambrose's students (she couldn't go to ballet academy because she was too fat to be a ballerina).

Shana was not certain which she was more incredulous about: that there were, in fact, ballet academies somewhere in the world, or that Ms Pierce had once been a ballerina and felt a need to list all the performances she'd been in as a girl, along with a description of the "trials and triumphs of dance." Yes, Shana was willing to admit that dancing was a difficult, physically demanding activity, especially dancing _en Pointe, _but did Pierce really need to explain that particular point for ten minutes straight?

And of course, she felt a need to say, "so I can completely relate to the adversity you young women face in today's world." Being a fat ballerina was nothing like being -

Enough.

After Ms Pierce's side tangent about ballet, she delved more into the history of the school. Apparently, Gilly Ambrose had wanted _young girls to reach their full potential in the worlds of business, sciences, civil leadership, and defense, without being belittled, distracted, or manipulated by their male peers_ and to do so, they needed to go through a _military-style academic institution_. This would be _completely instrumental in teaching young women responsibility, cooperation, self-worth, strategy, tactics for business and defense,_ et cetera, yadda, yadda, blah.

Or something like that.

Ms Pierce was also very clear that _although some of you may be here due to issues at educational institutions in the past, this is not meant to be a punishment for you. _Oh, yes it is._ It is, rather, a place where you can learn and grow, free of distractions from your old lives. This is not a reform school or a prison. _Have you seen the security, lady, or do you just live in a fantasy world? _It is also not a strictly military institution. Although many of our girls do go into the military, others go to colleges or trade schools across the country and do quite well for themselves. It is also not run strictly on military tactics and preparation for the military. We want, above all, to create resilient, actively thinking young women... _That was about the hour mark, when Shana felt like drifting off to sleep. Her thoughts wandered. After a few days, she'd managed to tap into the system and established where the blind spots of the cameras were. She'd even found a way to interfere with the image, guaranteeing that if she ever wanted to sneak out, she could just erase herself from the film and play dummy. _Who, me? Couldn't be._

Ha.

Finally, after another forty-five minutes, during which Ms Pierce rambled on about the rules - the dress code especially, with a glare towards the blonde and her friends, who were sitting quite innocently in the chairs two rows in front of Shana - Pierce concluded her speech.

"Now, young ladies, you are going to divide up into groups and go to your respective barracks. First Years, you will be lead by Mr Brown, our head of the social studies department, and Miss Nichols, our artistic director."

Mr Brown was a sour-looking man with thick-framed black glasses, wearing a dress shirt and a tie, complete with coffee stain. He was mostly bald, except for a fringe of hair that circled his skull, like a monk. He stood up and glared out at the girls. Probably an angry old man just a few years from retirement, who was so sick of those Goddamn brats fidgeting around in class he wanted to strangle them all. Painfully. With a telephone cord - the ancient yellow type that helixes. In sharp contrast, Nichols, dressed in a blue patterned top, black jeans, pink heels and a huge scarf, beamed brightly and waved at everyone. Apparently, the start of school had not changed her fashion sense, or her cheery personality.

The First Years filed out, including the Asian girl Shana had seen fall on the curb. They all looked either nervous or outright terrified as if they were suspiciously intelligent cows being brought to the slaughterhouse.

Growth hormones could do that to you. Right?

Shana watched as the Second and Third years filed out. Well, surprise, surprise - the blonde and her friends were Final Years, as was the redheaded girl.

The head of the tech department, a skinny, dark-haired woman named Ms Rossi, and - who else? - Cerberus, alias Miss Evans, who was apparently the athletic director, escorted all the Final Years. Miss Rossi was clutching a light-weight silver laptop in one hand.

Once they were all standing in the barracks, Cerbreus began to bark. Through a bullhorn, for fuck's sake. Where were they getting all these bullhorns from? Pierce had had one earlier. There was a screech of feedback and then: "Listen up. You get your partners by random lottery. You work with them during physical training and in academics."

There was another screech of feedback as Cerberus lowered the bullhorn and consulted with Rossi briefly. Shana looked around. All the beds had been made up with fresh linens, in mauve taupe with burnt orange trim (what else?). Some had sprayed copious amounts of flowery air-freshener, as well, when the girls where in assembly. All the bags were stacked in a corner of the room, underneath a new WELCOME BACK FINAL YEARS banner.

Cerberus cleared her throat and raised the bullhorn again. "To a certain extent. We'll get to that later. Now can I just give them the damn assignments." This last bit was directed at Rossi, who frowned, lines showing up between her eyebrows. She grabbed the bullhorn, producing another shriek of feedback.

Were they trying to deafen everyone? _Mother of God, that was fricking loud._ Shana winced.

"Alright, here's how it works. The computer system selects two names randomly." Shana knew this was true; it was one of the systems she'd "browsed." She hadn't seen a need to tamper with it, though. She didn't know anyone here, so what was the point? "You get your partner for the entire year. No complaining. And you all bunk alphabetically, regardless of your partner. When your name is called, walk to the other side of the room.

"Now, let's begin."

Rossi clicked the bullhorn off and passed it to Cerberus. Then she opened her laptop with a flourish and tapped the screen.

The computer emitted a low hum and then said, "Taylor Hopper and Lorraine Row."

The redhead and the girl with the fancy cornrows walked to the other side of the room, grinning as they turned to face everyone else. Okay, so they definitely knew one another. And they were friends, too.

"Kasey Mason and Zoe Wilder."

The ice princess and another girl, with black hair, walked over. Both had their heads held high. They turned to one another and smirked slightly. Probably friendly rivals.

The computer ran down the list of students. Soon, only four girls remained: Shana, the blonde who'd mouthed off to Pierce earlier, the blonde's tanned friend, and Alana Somers. Secretly, Shana hoped she'd get the blonde as her partner. She seemed like the most likely candidate for the leader of this group. And once the leader was in awe and fear of you, you became the one with the real power.

Ha. Easy.

The computer called out, "Alana Somers and Laura Reynolds."

"Shana O'Hara and Holly Osborn."

The blonde whooped, "Freshmeat!" and dove into a cartwheel, but bungled it halfway through and landed on her ass. She screamed and then dissolved into laughter. All the other girls started laughing too. The redhead - Taylor Hopper - screamed, "When are you gonna learn that doesn't work, Blondie?"

Holly flipped her off. "When you learn the days of the week, Hopscotch!"

The line between Rossi's eyebrows appeared again. She just wanted one orderly First Day, just_ once_, with this group. She hadn't gotten it the last three years. Mother of _God,_ was that too much to ask? She gave the laptop to Cerberus and snatched the bullhorn back.

"GIRLS, ENOUGH!" Rossi roared through the bullhorn, which squawked like a terrified parakeet being stuffed in a blender. All the girls went silent and stared ahead, making her next request: "ALL OF YOU SHUT UP!" unnecessary, but still satisfying.

The blonde got up, dusted off her butt, and skipped into the line.

"ALRIGHT, YOU MISERABLE DELINQUENTS," Rossi bellowed, glaring at Holly, "WHY DON'T YOU COOPERATE GETTING ALL THE BUNKING ARRANGEMENTS IN ORDER?! SHOW YOUR MATURITY FOR ONCE! WE'LL BE BACK IN HALF-AN-HOUR AND IF YOU ALL FIGHT AND GET BLOOD ON THE FLOOR, YOU'LL BE CLEANING IT UP WITH YOUR OWN TOOTHBRUSHES" - Rossi stopped to breather; her face had turned an unhealthy shade of reddish-purple - "SO HELP ME GOD!"

She shut off the bullhorn, eliciting one last ear-shattering burst of feedback, and then stormed out of the barracks, Cerberus close behind. All the girls looked at the blonde, who was shaking her head sorrowfully. "And that, my dears, is what happens when you torment a teacher into insanity." She had a slight Southern twang - likely a Texan. Then she clapped her hands. "Alrighty, we all know where to bunk, right?" Head nods, all around. Shana had never approved of group responses, so she didn't nod along. Besides, if there was going to be a confrontation, now would be a good time for it. No teachers, no cameras. Just so long as she didn't get blood on the floor... Shana suppressed a grin. Sure enough, Blondie was coming on over. The other girls had broken out of the line and were watching curiously.

"You got somethin' to say to me, doll?" Shana purred calmly. She had trained herself out of speaking with a Southern dialect, but now she slathered it on thick. It was always good to have the Southern-queen thing going on. Gave her a little class, some individuality. Not to mention, she could tone her voice so it sounding supremely insulting.

Double Ha.

The blonde grinned, showing her teeth lazily. There was an undercurrent of tension now. Holly had been the queen bee of the Year since she was a First Year. She was just that likable, a joker whose charisma connected her with most people. She was also a very good martial artist, even though she didn't look it. Then again, she'd never been one for conforming to the norm. She was by no means a dummy, despite her appearance. Her grades were up in the A's and B's and her skill at reading people had made her a great flirt - and an excellent leader. You didn't need to be a great techie or brain when you had underlings who were. Still, although Holly enjoyed a good fight - a real challenge - she never used people. And although she enjoyed being the queen, she didn't hold grudges. She studied the new redhead, whose tone of voice radiated lazy insolence. Holly realized that the new girl, Shana, was no dummy, either. She'd sized up everyone and knew who was the leader. And she was interested in taking Holly down a few pegs. This would be tricky to defuse ... but only if Shana was every bit as tenacious as Holly.

Holly decided, _What the hell._ She'd take a poke at Shana, see how well the girl responded. After all, if they were going to work together, they needed to establish the person in charge. And she was fairly confident it would be her. "Well, yeah, Skinny. You know who you're bunking with?"

"You, I imagine," Shana said, still in that lazy tone. "Unless, instead of taking the bottom bunk, you'd like to sleep on the floor?" She arched one eyebrow lightly, and widened her eyes a bit as she said this.

"Oh, no, I'd prefer the top bunk, actually," Holly said casually, tilting her head to the side.

"Re-ally." Shana drew out the word a bit. "Why?"

Shana was still challenging her. Time to step things up a notch. "Well, y'know, you're so skinny, Irish," Holly said lightly. "How strong could these scrawny little arms be? I bet you couldn't climb to the top bunk." Holly reached out and grabbed Shana's wrist, pinching it in her hand and pulling the Irish girl's arm up. Shana did not resist. This gesture got appreciative chuckles from a few of the girls, and smirks from others. The crowd began to close in on the two, pressing forward to see what would happen next.

Oh, and everyone would see what happened next.

Ha.

Holly smirked, waiting.

Shana could still laugh it off and back down, but from the steely gaze in her green eyes, Holly knew, with sudden, terrible clarity, that she'd underestimated the girl. Irish was not going to back down. She did not like being mocked.

Oh, Goddamn fucking _chickenshit._

"Yes," Shana said, quietly, almost as if she was agreeing, conceding to Holly. A small smile quirked up the corners of her lips. Then, she slammed a punch up into Holly's gut and kicked the taller girl's legs out from under her. Holly's stilettos could not support her, and she fell down, shocked. Her head thunked against the floor and the air rushed from her lungs audibly. She'd felt the punch and the kick before she'd seen them coming, how was that even fricking possible?_ Fuck_. She was screwed.

Shana smiled pityingly. "Weak," she murmured, a note of sad disappointment in her voice. She stood still: her eyes scanned the crowd for potential new challengers. Everyone was shocked, eyes widened and pupils dilated. Smirks slipped off faces; jaws dropped.

"_Fuck._ You see that?" A whisper carried through the crowd.

Suddenly, Cerberus burst in. "UH' HAHRUH."

_Frick. What the hell -?_

Holly righted herself and the crowd shifted. "_Ooooo_," the gasp ran through the crowd. Cerberus navigated through the girls. "Come with me. To the office." She glared down the other students. "Get moving."

-H-

Ms Pierce stood behind the dark-wood desk, her eyes trained on Shana and tissues ever-so-_subtly _present on her desk. She was expecting Shana to cry at the news, no doubt. Well, screw it. Shana wasn't in the mood to jump through hoops right now. She wasn't going to give Pierce a single sniveling little-girly tear. Shana had given up crying when her mother died. She wasn't going to cry for her sonofabitch of a father, the same guy who had shipped her to this crapfest and -

JESUS H. CHRIST, GOD FUCKING DAMMIT, GET IT THE HELL TOGETHER, YOU STUPID BITCH. FOCUS. FOCUS ON NOW AND MAKE ALL THIS EXCESS TOUCHY-FEELY SHIT GO THE FUCK AWAY.

DEAL WITH IT.

-H-

Shana O'Hara was in a car. It was approximately 11 AM, and she was in a car. It was not her car. It was a minivan, and property of the school. The person driving the car was not Shana. It was Cerberus, whose eyes were firmly fixed on the road, and hands Super Glued to the ten-and-two positions on the steering wheel. Cerberus' jaw was tight. She was avoiding looking at Shana in the rear view mirror. She had barely spoken to the redheaded girl (how was that hair _not _dyed?), mostly because she didn't know what to say. The kid was one of those smart-ass types, and the way she was sitting there, still and stiff as a statue, was just unreal. Did she even feel anything at all? Maybe she was in shock. People went funny like that, sometimes. The girl probably wasn't thinking much of anything right now, just trying to process it all.

It was somewhat easier this way - Carlotta Evans had never been really great at comforting crybabies.

Shana O'Hara was thinking. She was thinking about her mother's funeral, nine years in the past.

-H-

AT THE BARONESS' NEW YORK CITY PENTHOUSE

-H-

Anastasia Cisarovna was irritated. Dr. O'Hara had destroyed one of Cobra Industries' best labs. Oh, and killed himself in the process. Idiot. No security footage remained, and there wasn't a satellite beam concentrated over that spot at the time of the explosion. That was a total inconvenience. What a waste.

She supposed she'd have to do some PR, convince the grieving family not to sue. Or investigate further. Ah, well, that was something she was good at, no? She took out her laptop and placed brought it into her dining room, setting it on the varnished wood dining table. She sat down and booted up the computer, the n searched the doctor's profile to find news on his family...

-H-


	4. Chapter 3 Part 1: Wearing Black

Chapter Three, Part I : Wearing Black

Editor's note: "Asya" is a Russian nickname for Anastasiya (Anastasia).

-H-

THE BARONESS' PRIVATE PLANE, AT ELEVEN-TEN AM

-H-

The Baroness's enjoyment of her flight to Atlanta was slightly perturbed. The meeting with DeCobray had gone as she had predicted - poorly. At least it had not gone _badly,_ as she had been concerned. Of course, terminating her would be difficult, because she was such a public figure. Not to mention her influence on DeCobray's criminal empire, although he certainly didn't suspect it...But yes, _poorly._ He had raged at her in a more violent than typical fashion, demanding that she salvage the situation. Which she would, of course.

She'd already commanded the workers in the Atlanta office to start making preparations for the memorial, which would occur the day after tomorrow. And she'd already prepared a statement about the incident. Two, actually. One to be released publicly, and the other to tell what had really happened - to the best of everyone's knowledge. Apparently, the other workers at the lab had been told to take the day off by O'Hara, who had gone into work anyway. O'Hara was one of the workers at Cobra who was officially part of the legal business - although his inventions weren't used for it. The other scientists in similar situations didn't notice - or care if they did - the money was enough incentive for them to keep working and not question anything. But O'Hara had a stubborn idealistic streak. Honesty and accountability had their place, the Baroness would admit, but not in a criminal empire.

Dr. O'Hara, the fool, had caused a rather major setback in their plans. He'd destroyed not only the Cobra laboratory, but his home lab as well. And all his records, save a few vague, jargon-filled progress reports he had submitted, and a single video in which he explained his invention.

The only real good news was that he only had one surviving family member - a daughter named Sarah, or was it some other, Irish name? Shana, that was it. A minor, too,(age seventeen) which made things easier. She wished she'd known about the girl sooner; maybe they could've blackmailed O'Hara through his daughter. Someone in Research was going to pay for not bringing that fact to light... In fact, when the good doctor had come to work at Cobra, he'd taken advantage of their worker benefits and re-written his will, so his daughter would be "a recipient of aid and benefits from Cobra after the death of the signee, (insert full name here)". Apparently the old man had neglected to read the small (very small) print of that contract. Until Shana turned eighteen, her assets - property, money, and essentially, self - were under Cobra's control.

Anastasia smiled. She was lucky there were no such trusting, idealistic fools in her family tree.

The Cisarovnas had come from rather poor roots, despite her preferred nickname, Baroness (it was amazing what treasures one's genealogy contained once one had acquired enough money to be important). In fact, Ivan Cisarovna, Anastasia's great-great-grandfather, was a charismatic Russian peasant who had climbed up the ranks in the Red Army during the Russian Revolution, and then insinuated himself into the upper tiers of the USSR's elite. This tradition of side dealing, extortion, blackmail, and winner-takes-all mentality had been passed down through generations of Cisarovnas. Even young Asya's mother, Sonya, a Cisarovna by marriage, was a criminal mastermind - although she preferred the term "good businesswoman" - and had passed this tradition down to her daughter, after her husband Dmitry's death.

Ah, that was a rather sad tale. After the fall of the Soviet Union, the rotten dealings of the criminal underworld had expanded rapidly. Many newly rich, powerful families emerged as players on the crime scene, their money greatly due to illegal (or if not technically_ illegal_, immoral) activities. Dmitry had been assassinated by a hired gun paid for by one such upstart family, which had promptly been wiped from the face of the Earth on Sonya's orders.

Hell hath no fury like an angry Russian woman. Anastasia could still remember the defiant set of her mother's jaw and her detached, steely gaze as she commanded her underlings.

After Dmitry's death, Sonya had begun to worry about the safety of the Cisarovan criminal empire - if the word "safe" could be applied to such a group - especially after she learned the identity the man who'd killed her husband. He had been an employee, fairly high up in the ranks. Sonya had decided that however large Russia was, it had become too small with so many competitors. So, why not move to America? She had several contacts there, especially a certain man who had access to John DeCobray, the elderly patriarch of the DeCobray family and founder of Cobra Industries. Which was, conveniently, looking for a new PR person. Not only for public dealings, actually, but private as well. And Sonya, with years of experience, fit the bill. Her new job provided well for her and young Asya, and gave her access to the legal business and the more lucrative, less scrupulous dealings of DeCobray's criminal network. Even after John's empire was taken over by his son, Adam, Sonya retained her position. All the while, she trained little Asya to take her place.

And Asya had proven adept at her lessons. In fact, after he mother's death, Anastasia had taken the name "Baroness" and succeeded her mother as the public face of Cobra. Soon, she would be the recipient of much more honor than that...Both the legal and criminal empires were growing strong. Still, Anastasia knew that a bloody battle would be wasteful of her resources. Controlling the world's population was more easily done through shrewd economic and political bartering as Cobra Industries slowly grasped power from everyone else's hands. And she, too, was slowly leaching power from DeCobray and her other competitors...so slowly that stupid Adam did not realize his control was slipping away. Which meant that she had to appear as a cringing lackey before him - something she had found vaguely irritating at first, but was beginning to chafe more each time she slipped on this particular mask.

It was a tricky thing, at first. Now, it was simply an irritant. She had to appear shrewd, not complacent, so he would not suspect her to be unfit or plotting, yet not so self-assured and brilliant that he felt she was a threat he needed to eliminate. She just needed to remember: patience.

-H-

EN ROUTE TO ATLANTA, GEORGIA, AT ONE-THIRTY-EIGHT PM

-H-

Shana stared out the window. She didn't want to look at Cerberus, whose hands were still glued to the minivan's steering wheel. She just want to -

God. She didn't know what she wanted.

_Pathetic._

She'd spent her whole life being decisive. Being in control had been especially important to her. Being in control meant no messiness, no random emotions. It meant she could be manipulative, powerful, above other people with their tears and laughter controlling their whims. People were emotional decision-makers, she knew; she took care to separate herself from that. She'd learned to sequester herself from her emotions, to shut down when things got too heavy.

And wasn't that just what her father had dome? No, he hadn't consciously opted out; he'd just shut down after Mother -

_Pathetic. God-fucking-damn pathetic. Question is, which one of us is more so? _

_Frick. _She must just be having a breakdown, psychoanalyzing herself... Of course, crazy people probably didn't realize they were crazy. Or depressed.

Sometimes, Shana wondered if her father had even know she was _there_ -

Okay. Enoughenough_enough._ Keep It Simple, Stupid. Don't think that far back. Manage things. The only thing Shana was managing right now was her urge to cry, bawl like a fricking baby... No. No, she would not. Never._ I don't jump through hoops..._ The tissue box. The one on Pierce's desk, helpfully placed in case she started to cry. It was blue, with a blue, white and grey seashell design on it. White Kleenex, helpfully poking out of the box slot. Perfectly straight on the desk.

Details. Focus on the details .Then, the big picture...

_Shana was sitting in Pierce's off-white office with the dark furniture. Cerberus had escorted her in and then left Shana with Ms Pierce. She was sitting on a hard, uncomfortable chair in front of Pierce's desk. Pierce was standing, glad, she figured, to be taller than Shana. At least until she stood up. The blinds were pulled tightly shut; the only light coming from the fluorescents overhead, which casted harsh shadows on Pierce's face, exaggerating her hooked nose. There were half a dozen filing cabinets lined up behind Pierce's desk. One was opened slightly, allowing Shana to see the manila folders inside, all stuffed with paperwork. One was on Pierce's desk. It was open. Probably student folders, with everyone's records. Good to know. That meant, though, that the open folder on Pierce's desk was Shana's. _

_Ms Pierce spoke, softly. "Shana, we've just been notified. Your father died two days ago at his workplace. Cobra Industries' public representative just phoned the school to give us the news. Apparently, they are willing to take care of the memorial service and pay for a nice headstone, but you need to go down to Atlanta."_

_There was a phone, sitting in its cradle on Pierce's desk next to the computer monitor. A flat-screen. They'd phoned the school. Her father was dead._

_Pierce had said more, but Shana couldn't focus on the words. She stared straight ahead, at the vein on Pierce's face._

_"...We'll certainly set you up with a grief counselor once you get back. Do you have any questions, darling?"_

Darling. _The saccharine endearment suggested that Pierce actually gave a shit what happened. And she didn't. No one did. it was enough to bring Shana out of her shocked stupor._

_"No, ma'am. I think we're finished here." Shana put a little bite into that. She kept her face blank. She was not going to give Pierce any signs of grief. _

_If she said, "I'm so sorry for your loss," Shana was going to punch her, right in that fricking hooked nose. Pierce opened her mouth, but then reconsidered whatever she was going to say and shut it._

_Shana got up, scraping back the chair's legs on the floor. "May I be excused?' Barely polite, almost insolent._

_Pierce swallowed. "Of course. Miss Evans will be right outside, waiting for you. She'll be driving you down."_

_Shana turned and yanked the door handle, pulling the door open. Sure enough, Cerberus was waiting with Shana's suitcase. _

Shana felt angry. She was angry at Pierce, at Evans, at Holly Osborn, at her father, at herself, at the whole fricking world. Inside that anger, though, she just felt hollow, numb. Like her insides had been pulled out. Like she was in suspended animation, frozen until someone took her out of the cyro chamber and reanimated her. The though slipped in her mind every few seconds, in rhythm with her heartbeat: _my Father's dead. He is dead._

-H-

GRIMSBY ROAD, AT EIGHT PAST SIX PM

-H-

Dave Card had been driving down Grimsby, as he always did at the end of his shift as a firefighter, eager to get home to Augusta and their daughters, Emily and Karen. Today had been particularly difficult. There was a fire out at a bar, caused by some sort of explosion in the kitchen. Just a few miles down Grimsby, actually. Several people had had to be hospitalized for burns and the place was a wreck. He really should have been home earlier, but with the aftermath...

Grimsby Road was bordered on both sides by forest, so he'd been scanning the road as he usually did. It was autumn, and deer were likely to be out and about. He certainly didn't wanted to hit one. _Think of how badly that could damage the truck_! But, well, if he was being scrupulously honest, it wasn't really the car he was worried about. Dave had a soft spot for animals (which was why he'd really given up hunting, although he wouldn't let Jon know that, the man would tease him relentlessly). Dave also had a soft spot for helping people, which was why he'd volunteered as a firefighter.

Dave scanned up ahead, looking - _what the heck is that_? It wasn't a deer. Whatever it was, was lying half-on, half-off the road. Dave pulled over to the side of the road and cut the engine. He grabbed his cell phone from the glove box and stuck it in his pants pocket. As he got out of the car, shutting the blue door of his truck behind him, he saw that it looked vaguely human. Oh, hell ... hell_fire_ ... Dave was not easy to scare. His years of firefighting had prepared him for the worst kinds of tragedies - or so he'd thought. But this ... person, Dave couldn't tell if he/she was a man or woman ... this poor person had been burned. All over. Dave sneaked another glance at the person and took a step closer. Okay, male. A man. A badly burned man lying on the side of the road. _How the hell'd he get there?_ There were second and third degree burns covering his body, as evidenced by the red and white patches of skin and the bloody blisters; some of his clothes had been burned away and others seared into his flesh. There was black char and, oh God, he even smelled of burning... Was he alive?

Dave bent down next to the man, the smell of charred flesh making his eyes water. He lifted up a wrist and tested for a pulse. The man's heart was still beating, but he was unconscious. And his skin was dirty. Dave pulled out his cell phone, and sent up a brief prayer for reception. Three bars, thank God. He punched in 9-1-1.

-H-

COBRA INDUSTRIES PUBLIC OFFICE, ATLANTA, GEORGIA

-H-

The Baroness entered the office lobby. The door closed with a thud behind her. She was immediately caught on-screen by five different cameras and bathed in harsh florescent light. The walls of the lobby were painted cream with white trim; modern art hung on the walls. She identified herself to the receptionist, who nervously pressed a buzzer on her desk, signaling the Baroness' arrival. The receptionist, a tiny, nervous girl with thin hair, then passed her boss a badge, which the Russian woman took without comment. She stalked towards the elevator and jammed her finger on the 4 button. As the elevator moved upward, Anastasia smoothed her hair and though about what she would say to her underlings. Hopefully, they had come up with some sort of plan for the memorial service.

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. The Baroness stepped out onto the fourth floor. The walls up here were painted the same cream color, but there wasn't anything hanging on the walls, and the space was divided neatly into cubicles. She stood up straight, looking like a vengeful, evil god. "Eric Foster!" She barked. An overweight man with greasy hair and large glasses waddled over to her. He'd gotten fatter, she noted, and, evidently, had not thoroughly acquainted himself with soap. "How are the preparations?"

In an effort to look professional, Eric straightened his tie, and fidgeted with his clipboard. He was part of the legal Cobra empire. He had a healthy respect for the Baroness. In fact, he was afraid of her - although he wouldn't admit it. "Um, well, we, umm, have some plans. The funeral-slash-memorial will occur, um, day after tomorrow. At the, umm -"

"Oh, just give me that." The Baroness reached out a delicate pale hand for the clipboard. "The poor man just died, and you can't even manage his memorial correctly?" The look on her face was equal parts sadness over a tragedy and exasperation.

"We're doing the best we can, Bar -" He wheezed.

She held up a hand and walked off in the direction of her office.

_Oh, shit_. Eric winced. While the Baroness was gone - the Atlanta office was not often her base of operations - they had set up a Foosball table in her office. Everyone in the department either played the game or betted on the outcome. Currently, he was in deadlock with Debbie Myers for the championship game. He hoped Eddie had removed the table while he was talking to the boss lady.

-H-

THE CARD HOUSHOLD, AFTER DINNER

-H-

Jon Bentley had come over for dinner as he always did on Thursdays. It was a tradition - either the Cards when over to Jon's house, or he came to theirs. Jon was always good for a laugh, and the girls, Emily and Karen, were always thrilled when Uncle Jon stopped by. Today, though, the mood was more somber than usual. Because of the bar fire, and the mysterious burned man.

After dinner, Jon and Dave had retreated into the home office. Dave hadn't wanted to talk about the man in front of his daughters. They settled in the plush blue chairs, facing each other.

"Jon, do you know how he got burned up like that?"

"You know I can't give out the details of an ongoing investigation, Dave," Jon said primly. Then he sighed. Jon and Dave had been friends since grade school. They'd both talked about becoming police officers - detectives. Jon had, but Dave had found his calling as a firefighter.

Jon sighed again. Usually he was full of frenetic energy - he'd always been borderline ADHD. "We don't know. We haven't questioned him. The guy was sent to the hospital in the city. They've got some crack burn doctor there. I hope they'll be able to fix 'em up. But, right now, we really have no idea what happened. My best guess is, he was at the bar and somehow ended up trying to walk home. " Jon leaned forward a little, staring at Dave intensely. "We need to get you down to the station tomorrow to do another report."

Dave shrugged, frowning. "First time I saw him was on the side of Grimsby. He had dirt on him; must've been crawling. Dressed in dark clothes, I'd guess, but it's hard to tell with the char. Do you even know who he is?"

Jon made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. He tugged on his shirtsleeve. He was a problem-solver; he hated not to have the answers. "Ach, no. Nothing on him to ID the guy. Tattoo on his forearm - red bars - don't know what to make of it. My best guess is a drifter. Maybe a motorcyclist, those types pass through here every so often."

"Alone?" Dave frowned. Motorcyclists typically traveled in groups.

"Well, maybe he was a loner. Who's to say? We didn't actually find a vehicle, but he could've hitch hiked." Jon shrugged, again. He still fidgeted with his shirtsleeve. " Media probably won't pick it up, 'cause we don't know who the guy is. Intriguing, sure, but no real lasting interest factor. Besides, there's all this shit about the Cobra factory or lab or whatever blowing up over near Milton. And then the president's latest bill he's trying to pass, and that whole thing with the kid who disappeared up in Wyoming..."

"You think the guy walked all the way from the bar down Grimsby?"

"What? Well, people do all sorts of crazy things..." Jon rolled his eyes and leaned back, putting his hands behind his head. "It's the only theory we've got right now, to be honest about it, Dave. What, you got another idea?"

It was Dave's turn to shrug. "Nah. I just don't like what happened to the guy. Those burns would be nasty to heal, and then he was on the ground, so there's the increased risk of infection..."

Jon nodded. "Yeah. But this doctor is supposed to be really good, and the guy survived transport, so hopefully he'll end up okay." Jon leaned forward again. "You're worried." He laughed. "You worry about everyone, you know. That's why you gave up hunting - you were worried about hurting the animals."

Dave nodded, bracing himself for an insult. "Yeah. But you don't hunt much either."

Jon grinned. "Yeah. Man, we're going soft. Maybe before I arrest someone, I'll give out sympathy hugs."

"That's a great community-building exercise, " Dave said with a straight face. "It would really turn the gangsters and meth heads around."

"I know. I'm going to suggest it at the next department meeting." Jon grinned and started picking at one of his shirt buttons on the cuff of his sleeve.

-H-

ATLANTA, GEORGIA, ABOUT TEN-THIRTY PM

-H-

Shana was trapped in a hotel room. The room smelled vaguely of cigarette smoke - apparently the last occupant had been a smoker - and that smell was not helping her mood. The room was dark; the overhead lights were not on. Only a lamp on the bedside table illuminated the small room, which had tacky seashell wallpaper and a single chair in the corner, which held Shana's bag.

Cerberus was in the room next to Shana's. She had made a big deal about taping Shana's door shut with duct tape. _"If you open this door, the tape will tear. I will know you got out." _

_Big Brother knows when you're sleeping, he knows if you're awake, and if you get out of your room, you've made a grave mistake..._ Okay, if she was singing _1984 _Christmas carols, she was tired. And borderline hysterical. But she didn't really want to go to sleep. It wasn't sleeping that was the real problem, just trying to fall asleep. That was when she started to think about things. She wished she had some sleeping pills, so she'd just go to sleep, instead of trying to put herself to sleep by reciting the Periodic Table, like she'd dome since she was a little kid...

_Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium..._

_They'd sat down at the kitchen table together, early one Saturday morning, after they'd eaten pancakes for breakfast. She must've been five or six, but she could remember this clearly. He'd brought out a Periodic Table, and spread it out on the table almost reverently._

_"See, Shana, these are the elements," Da had said, before Mother had died and he had become Father. "92 naturally occurring, others created in laboratories. They make up the entire universe. Even me, even you, we are made up of elements."_

_"Which ones?" Little Shana leaned in to look at the chart on the table, her pony tail swinging on her back._

_"Mostly oxygen, carbon, hydrogen and nitrogen," he'd said, pointing each one out on the Periodic Table. He winked. "Plus a few others."_

_Boron, carbon, nitrogen..._

One of the things about being a scientist's daughter: you never forgot the elements.

Other memories flashed up inside Shana's head:

_finding plants in the yard and classifying them, listening to the old Latin and Greek names;_

_reading a physics textbook with Da as a bedtime story, asking him to explain the long, technical words and give her the "abridged version";_

_pouring acid on rock samples to make them sizzle in the home laboratory, alongside Da, only to have Mother shake her head and make them promise to be careful -_

_Mother._

God. Fucking pathetic. It's been nine years. Leave it the hell alone. Don't fricking think about it.

_Wounds only heal when you stop picking at them, retard._

God. Here she was, arguing with herself. Shana walked over to the window, and pulled back the curtains. It was a cloudy night. She stared out the neon signs and car headlights. There were still lights on in the buildings. Other people were still up, talking and eating and driving, somewhere out there. It hit her, like a hard punch: Her father was gone. She was alone, really alone, for the first time.

_Pathetic._

-H-

A/N: I decided to split this chapter into two parts. The second bit will deal with Dr. O'Hara's memorial service. ( I figured more than 15 pages at one go was too much.) Shana and Snake Eyes will meet in the fifth chapter or so.

As for the car scene in the last chapter: I was trying to write it in a sort of detached way, and a little bit from Cerberus' (Carlotta Evans) perspective. And I did want the effect of the scene skip (from the office to the car, without a lot of detail) to be jarring, but not confusing, so hopefully this chapter explained what happened. Basically, Shana was informed that her father died and sent down to Atlanta for his funeral/memorial service, with Miss Evans (Cerberus) along to supervise.

Also, the head-yelling thing: It's basically what she does to prevent herself from showing strong emotions that she doesn't want other people to pick up on, or even experience - a sort of suppression tactic so she can compartmentalize things and deal with them later. (Or never.)

And thanks for the reviews - it helps me to know what you all are looking forward to having me write, and the things that confuse you so I can explain them.


	5. Chapter 3 Part 2: Wearing Black

Chapter Three, Part II: Wearing Black

-H-

AMBROSE ALL-GIRLS MILITARY SCHOOL TRACK, TOO EARLY IN THE MORNING

-H-

Eight years prior, a running track had been built at Ambrose Military, complete with bleachers and a sand pit for the long jump. It was surrounded by chain-link fence and cut off from view of the school by a thick line of tall trees. Before the track was built, the girls were taken to run cross-country in the forested area of the academy's property. After several students getting lost or injured on the trails, and one rather expensive lawsuit, the track had been built. It didn't change things much: getting up early to run around in circles was still, well, getting up early to run around in circles. The girls disliked it, although there was one advantage to it. They could converse with one another as long as they kept on moving.

Holly was running around the track, like all the other Final and Third years, her feet pounding the pavement in rhythm and her hair falling out of her high dancer's bun. The girls were a tangled blur of dark clothes, mostly bare legs, and icy breath. It was far too cold out and far too early to be jogging around outside in gym shorts and t-shirts. There was even dew on the chain-link fencing surrounding the track, for Pete's sake. But it was part of their gym regimen - stretches and then a three-mile jog before being divided into classes. Personally, Holly loved Karate, archery, and gymnastics. Swimming was fun, too, but she was lukewarm about everything else. And she_ loathed_ that Goddamn obstacle course.

"Hey, Ho!" That was Taylor Hopper, falling into stride next to Holly. Taylor's tennis shoes were definitely non-regulation. Instead of the black sneakers the other girls were wearing, Hopscotch's shoes were bright turquoise. Taylor reached out and poked her friend. "Ho!"

Holly huffed, sending out a puff of frozen breath through her mouth as she jogged. "How many times have I told you not to call me that, 'Scotch?"

"About as many times as I've told you not to call me Hopscotch," the red-head pointed out reasonably. Some of her curly hair had escaped her bun. She tucked the loose strands behind her ear, one-handed, without breaking stride. "You hear about O'Hara?"

"I _saw_ her get pulled outta the 'racks yesterday, yeah," Holly said. "Why?" Taylor smiled angelically, with just a little devilish gleam in her eye. _Now_ Holly was interested. The whole campus had been abuzz with theories about the Irish girl's abrupt departure. "You know something." 'Scotch grinned. "Tell me!" Holly demanded.

"_We-ll_," Hopscotch drew out the word, brows raised," apparently, and I'm not going to divulge my sources, but -"

"It was Kasey who told you." Holly surmised. The pale, long-haired girl was a huge gossip; she knew almost everything about everyone.

Holly was correct, apparently, because 'Scotch's smirk fell as they rounded the next corner on the track. "How'd you guess?"

"Girl's the biggest gossip on campus." Holly waved a hand, airily, secretly pleased with herself. "Continue, please."

Taylor rolled her eyes and huffed out a cold breath. "Okay- d'okay. Now, she got this from pestering Nichols. Apparently there was a 'family emergency.' And the real deal is, her dad died. So we all have to be supportive and welcoming of her when she gets back." Hopscotch finished in a sing-song. 'Scotch flicked her eyes towards Holly. "As usual."

Holly's expression was one of disbelief and puppy-dog-like innocence. "What? Me? C'mon, she was the one who threw the punch!"

"Yeah, yeah. Point is, the kid's got issues." Taylor laughed, expelling more foggy air from her mouth, and raised an eyebrow. "And we'll do our absolute best not to exacerbate the situation, _ri-ight_?"

Holly grinned. "_Ri-ight_."

But beneath the joking exterior, there was a sense of grimness, a shift in the light, playful mood. The smiles fell away as Taylor said, quietly, "I guess that must be tough. Wonder if he was sick or something?"

Taylor's grandmother had passed away in July, of breast cancer. It had been really difficult for Taylor; she'd been close to her Nana. Taylor's grandmother was the friendly, nurturing type and had absolutely adored her granddaughter. She had even sent Taylor fudge bars in a care package for Christmas, which 'Scotch had shared with everybody. Holly frowned, remembering. "Yeah. It sucks." She poked Taylor's shoulder. "I won't bitch at Irish when she gets back, I promise." Taylor grinned, nodding, trying to shake off her dark mood. "Irish?"

"Yeah, fightin' Irish," Holly grinned, paused. Taylor stopped, too.

"Race me to the next corner, 'Scotchy?" She took off without waiting for an answer. The cool morning air rushed against her face. She heard Taylor screeching behind her, "You're on, Ho!" and her feet slamming on the pavement as she caught up.

-H-

COBRA INDUSTRIES PUBLIC OFFICE, ATLANTA, GEORGIA

-H-

For some reason, Shana was thinking about that necklace, the one Father had given to her before she left for Ambrose. Wishing that she'd worn it. Even if it was a guilt gift, it was still a gift, and the last thing Father had -

A lump caught in Shana's throat. She hadn't slept at all the last night. Well, that wasn't technically accurate; she'd slept for about three hours. Not nearly enough. And now they were at Cobra Industries Public Office (Atlanta), as the sign out front so helpfully said. Waiting in the cream-painted lobby to be brought up to Ms. Cisarovna's office. Shana shifted in the chair she sat upon - it was one of those uncomfortable metal ones with a criss-crossed backing. Bizarrely, it made Shana think of a dentist's office. Cerberus sat next to her, staring at her book tablet and trying to avoid Shana. Apparently, Pierce had informed Shana that she would be meeting with a Cobra PR lady - Cisarovna - although Shana hadn't heard her. And Cerberus had woke her up early in the morning to inform her of the appointment. (_"What do you mean, you're not ready. Pierce told you about this.") A_t this point, the meeting seemed like it would be a lot less fun than having a tooth pulled.

There were only two other people in the lobby, not counting Cerberus and the receptionist. They were both men dressed in formal business attire. One was reading from an e-book (Cobra brand). The other was checking his Sssmart-phone: another piece of Cobra tech.

Shana had seen Cisarovna on the television before. Apparently, she was the head of Cobra PR. She spoke with a light Russian accent and wore her dark hair long and loose, in sharp contrast to her pale skin. She always seemed to have a pat answer for the questions reporters gave. She reminded Shana of a Cobra product, maybe a laptop, fresh off the assembly line. She looked like she analyzed things just as quickly as a computer, with the same impersonal touch. Of course, "impersonal" could simply be construed as professional.

Bored and apprehensive, Shana studied the receptionist. She was a tiny woman with thin hair and big eyes, who looked incredibly nervous, flashing her artificially whitened teeth at everyone in the vicinity: a silent plead for someone to smile back. She probably used up more whitening strips than a dentist. Shana flicked her tongue across her own teeth. She'd brushed them earlier, at the hotel, scrubbing until her gums bled. Before that, she'd viciously attacked her hair with a comb, twisting it up into a high pony tail. All her extra energy had been concentrated into her personal grooming instead of what she'd wanted to do since she'd heard of her father's death: give someone a nice, hard punch to the face. Right in the eyeball.

The elevator door dinged open, and a woman entered the lobby. Everyone in the lobby looked over to her. She was dressed in black pants and a dark grey blazer over a white blouse - typical business wear. Her long black hair swirled behind her and her black stilettos clicked on the floor as she made her way over to Shana and Cerberus.

When she spoke, it was with a light accent, with slightly different syllable stresses and a little trill on the _r_'s. "Hello. Shana O'Hara and Rebecca Evans, I presume?"

Cerberus nodded, her thin hair slipping out of the elastic that kept it in a bun. "Yes."

"I am Baroness Anastasia Cisarovna," the woman said politely, extending her right hand out for a shake. But her hand was extended towards Shana, not Cerberus, Shana noted with a dull satisfaction.

Shana stood up and shook Cisarovna's hand. The dark-haired woman had a strong grip. Even in stilettos, she carried her weight down through her feet the way a martial artist would, and stood with her knees slightly bent. She was probably just under Shana's height without the heels. Her skin was clear of any blemishes or birthmarks. It looked like she was wearing just a little eye makeup and some blush to give her face more color. No eyeglasses or jewelry.

Cisarovna then offered her hand to Cerberus, who had gotten to her feet just a moment after Shana had. Cerberus shook hands reluctantly.

Cisarovna spoke softly. "Please, both of you, follow me up to my office."

They followed her through the lobby, to the elevator. The receptionist stared after them, her eyes even bigger than before. The two men went back to their expensive tech toys. The elevator doors closed with a swoosh and the Russian pressed the 4 button on the lift console.

"You must have some questions for me," Cisarovna said. Shana realized with a shock that the Russian woman was talking to her. Anastasia held Shana's eyes in a firm, yet non-accusatory, gaze. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at Shana like she wasn't a troublemaker, a slut, or a disappointment. Shana stared back and finally found her voice.

"Yes," she said. "I certainly do."

The Baroness nodded. "I will answer them as best I can." The look on the girl's face had surprised her. She seemed... composed. Detached. The look was almost familiar. But, no matter: Anastasia already knew what she would say.

The elevator doors opened again, depositing them on the fourth floor. This area was well-lit and divided into cubicles, with each employee working busily at a desk. A portly, short man huffed his way over to the group. The armpits of his blue polo shirt were sweat-stained and his glasses were smudgy. He carried a manila file folder in his right hand.

"Hello," he blurted out, waving the folder around before transferring it to his left hand. "I got the documents you requested, Baroness."

The Baroness crinkled up her nose. "Thank you, Mr. Foster." She held out a pale hand, manicured nails stretched toward the fat man. He placed the folder in her palm and her thumb curled over it. She then tucked it under her arm, open-side up. "You may go now," she added, as the man was still just standing there. Mr. Foster turned to leave.

"Oh," she said suddenly, as if just remembering something important. His hopes for a quick escape dashed, Eric Foster turned around. "Y-yes? Baroness?"

"We will," the Baroness said lightly, but with a certain forcefulness behind the words, "be, ah, discussing your work this afternoon, at one-o'clock or so. Is that agreeable to you?"

"Y-yes."

Her accent became a bit more pronounced. "Excellent. I'm sure you have what it takes to be a team player, Mr. Foster; you just need some help achieving your goals."

She was not pleased about that Foosball table. And now his sweat glands were going into overdrive.

"Yes, ma'am." He adjusted his glasses nervously and wished for a doughnut.

She smiled brightly, showing her teeth. "Dismissed."

Shana watched the Russian as she spoke to Foster, who appeared to be both a nervous eater and a nervous sweater. The subtly threatening tone concealed in a conversation about something mundane - she'd heard that before. She'd_ done_ that before.

The Baroness shifted her weight and turned to navigate through the cubicles. "Come, follow me, please."

Once they reached her office, the Baroness ushered them inside and urged them to sit down. She then took a seat at her desk and laid the manila folder Eric Foster had given her down on the desktop. She opened it up and smoothed out the contents.

"We have the memorial plans here."

Cerberus grunted conversationally. "Yes. What."

The Baroness' lips compressed. She stared directly at Cerberus for a second, then dropped her gaze to the documents on her desk. "The service will take place tomorrow, at the First Church of Saint Peter. We've asked the head of the Scientific Research Department at the University to come to say a few words. If you'd like, you could also speak…."

Shana nodded. "Certainly. Thank you."

Anastasia paused, pulled out a pen, and jotted down a note in the manila folder. Her hand shook al little. She know where she'd seen that eerie, Zen look on Shana's face before. It was the look her mother had had, after Dmitry died. It was an odd parallel. Of course, the girl's mother was dead too. Anastasia shook off her train of thought and continued, "We'll be releasing a report on your father's passing the same day." The Baroness paused. "I really don't know how you're feeling right now, but…would you like to read the report, or would you prefer me to tell you? Or just…wait on it for a while?"

Shana looked towards Cerberus. _Not one fricking tear._ "I'll read the report."

The Baroness took the necessary documents out of the fat folder and passed them to Shana. The girl took the papers without comment. Shana had always been able to read quickly, and her vocabulary was above-average, even considering that her idea of light reading was a small volume on computer encryption or the human cerebellum. Some phrases jumped out at her immediately:

_explosion_

_desiccated_

_no remains_

_no on-site video_

_ruled accidental_

"What's this mean, 'no on-site video'?" Shana asked.

The Baroness frowned and gave a completely irrelevant answer. "We have checkpoints to prevent anyone unauthorized from coming in to the laboratory - it was especially important because your father worked in a wet lab. Do you know what a wet lab is?"

"Yes." Shana knew a wet lab was a laboratory with potentially hazardous material. But her father had been primarily a physicist who dabbled in chem and biology - why would he be working in a wet lab? And why was Cisarovna not answering her question? "Why was he working in a wet lab? And why no video?"

"There was no video because the cameras were destroyed by the explosion," Baroness stated calmly. "And your guess is as good as mine as why he was at a wet lab."

"Guess?" Shana's gaze hardened. She was angry now. It worked better to be angry, instead of numb. "You are telling me that my father is dead, and all you can do is guess why? That's not good enough. I need an answer, Ms. Cisarovna."

"_Baroness_ Cisarovna," the Russian woman corrected. "Your father's work for Cobra coincided with that of an outside company. I am not authorized to tell you what he was working on due to contracts signed by both parties_. I_ don't even really know what he was working on."

Shana slumped back in her chair. "Get authorization, then, why don't you?"

The Baroness' frown deepened. "I can't; the information is strictly confidential and I'd be faced with a lawsuit if I tried to dig it up."

It was clear that the PR lady was not going to budge on the issue. Time to switch tactics. "How do you even know my father's dead if you don't have video or witnesses?"

"We have a video of him at the automated checkpoint that was not destroyed," Baroness said. "However, we do not have footage of the explosion. And we know he was there because he didn't check out, and no one else checked in either."

She stared at the girl. Shana. Shana was perceptive and clearly not afraid of her. Anastasia found that…refreshing. The girl would grow into a worthy adversary - no, of course not, because Adam DeCobray had made it clear, along with Cullen of MARS Industries (the new company in the Cobra bloc), that the girl was to be sent back to school none the wiser. Without any forward information, just the knowledge that Daddy was dead and she'd be cared for by Cobra.

Anastasia quelled her rebellious inner voices and returned to the task at hand: turn on the charm and convince Shana not to question the Cobra version of what had happened.

It took two hours. Eventually, Cerberus excused herself to visit the ladies' room. Shana studied Cisarovna - oops, sorry, Baroness - and decided to ask. "So, it is officially an accident? No foul play?"

"No…" The Baroness seemed to hesitate.

"_Tell_ me." Shana sat composed, eyes directly on Anastasia. And then Anastasia, faced with the relentless girl's constant questions, did something cruel, even by her standards. She wanted to press Shana's buttons, see if she'd get a reaction. _But what I am about to do_, Anastasia thought, _is more like a complex dance than the mundane pressing of a button. Let's see if we can plant some suggestions; let's see if she processes this information well…_

"Well…" She gazed at Shana sympathetically. "It has been ruled an accident, but there were some suspicions, based on your father's expertise and careful lab work, that he could have," Anastasia paused, took a breath, and looked away into the distance, before look back at Shana and locking into her eyes. "Committed suicide."

Shana didn't process it right away. Then she was glad that Cisarovna was staring at her. If no one had been watching, she might have gone a little mad, fragmented a bit, but the eyes held her together. Because she was a good girl, a good actress, able to give people what they wanted (or thought they did) when it benefited her. And right now, it was better, expected, to be silent and hard as granite than to feel anything at all. So, she didn't.

_I am a statue, with bird shit all in my stone hair. I am a statue and if I cry my tears will etch acid rain marks on my face. I'm a fricking statue, and I can't feel anything at all, because if I do, the world will blast to bits and all the stars will implode, and the black holes will suck me up and tear my molecules apart…._

-H-

FIRST CHURCH OF SAINT PETER, THE NEXT DAY

-H-

Shana zombie-walked through the memorial service. Someone had torn off her eyelids. She couldn't blink; she had to stare. Blank. A blank stare. She tried to make her mind blank, too.

People said nice things to her, comforting things, because that is what you say at funeral. Some of them got teary. No one commented on her appearance. She'd worn a black T-shirt, but hadn't combed her hair. Cerberus had escorted Shana out to the house to get her stuff yesterday. Shana had thought about going into Da's home lab but then decided against it. Too many memories. Cisarovna had said some Cobra workers would board up the house, so no need for any work on that. Some reporters filmed her outside the church; none of the press were allowed in. It was an accident, so it was a slow story anyway. A prominent citizen in science circles, but not so much anywhere else - most people were more interested in Hollywood celebrities and Cobra's reality shows than a dead man and his deadbeat daughter.

_I'm not coming back._

And Shana's self-control, get-a-grip-and-don't-lose-your-shit voice responded, SHUT THE FRICKING HELL UP, IT'S NOT AS IF YOU CAN DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT NOW. GOD, FUCKING 'T THINK ABOUT IT, DON'T THINK ABOUT IT, DON'T EVEN THINK AT ALL.

-H-

?

-H-

He couldn't remember.

...

He was having trouble thinking. Everything was blurry. Nothing made sense.

...

Explosions. There was an explosion, a fire.

...

Running.

...

Something hurt; everything hurt.

_Focus._ Start with the simple.

_My name is Snake Eyes, I - _

_..._

-H-

A/N: Hopefully I've alleviated your insanity. Try not to get locked in a rubber room before the next update, okay? I heard they don't let you have Internet access. :) Chapter 5 will be the one after the next chapter (Chapter 4) since I don't count the prologue as a chapter. I know the end bit of this chapter might be a little confusing; I will explain. And I re-edited the other chapters, just so y'all know.


	6. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Worry

Notes: Jinx was eight when Snake Eyes joined the Arashikage. I'm assuming he was about 12 at the time, and they've left Japan recently (less than a year before this story takes place).

-H-

THE CABIN, THREE MONTHS LATER

-H-

He'd gone away on a job. He always comes back. In a week, maybe two. Not longer. It had been thirteen weeks since she last saw him. What the hell could she do, call the police? Yeah, and let them find out that a gaijin ninja and the Arashikage heir were hiding in a mountain cabin. Let everyone find them. No thanks. She was the outsider here, anyway. A Japanese in America.

After Tomisaburo killed Daddy, they had had to flee. Tomisaburo. Her cousin, the boy who had played tea party with her when she was four. How could he have killed Daddy? It made her so angry to think of it. The man he had claimed to look up to more than anyone else, and he had killed him. Well, she would train, train and train, and eventually, go back to Japan and hunt Tomi down. For Daddy, poor Daddy…

But how the hell could she train if Sensei was gone? Could something have happened to him? She'd scoured the internet for news of him - and found nothing. Not one thing. And now she was stuck. Her fake ID papers said she was eighteen, but she was really only fourteen. Sensei was eighteen, but his ID said he was twenty two. They'd had them made back in Japan, by an old friend of Daddy's. But a few papers wouldn't disguise that she was foreign. Especially not in the backwoods, the hicksville that was nearest the isolated cabin. She didn't have any idea where to start, either. He never told her about his jobs. He thought he was protecting her, she guessed. It was kind of sweet, but usually just super-annoying because she had to find out everything for herself.

And now she was worried. But she definitely wouldn't admit it to him, if he walked through the door right…_now._

_Now. _Come on, _now._

It was just a waiting game… a really annoying, nerve-snapping waiting game.

_Now._

-H-

AMBROSE MILITARY

-H-

The redheaded girl stood in the bathroom, in front of a sink, looking into the mirror.

_I'm a statue. I'm the human skeleton, carved in fricking stone._

Lunchtime was just moments away; all the other girls had changed into their academic uniforms for the afternoon classes. Shana frowned and tugged on the skirt. It wasn't that bad; it reached down to just past her fingertips in length. It was still ugly, though. Mauve taupe. She was the last girl in the bathrooms - late for lunch again. This would mean yet another "red card" and a Nice Chat with the school therapist. Oh, well. She couldn't bring herself to care. She reached up to tuck a loose piece of hair behind her ear. Her tendons were clearly visible, and her cheeks sunken.

_The acid rain carved me away._

…_._

_Fricking hell, I'm getting seriously weird in the head. _

Holly watched the other girl from inside a bathroom stall. Okay, it was totally dumb-assed to be hanging around here, but Irish looked like she was half-dead anyway. Her uniform was just _hanging _off her body. Her pony tail was drooping down her back; her eyes were sunken into her head and deadened. She looked like a zombie. If Holly were a vindictive person, she'd tell Irish that. But...she wasn't. Surprisingly, she actually felt bad for the other girl.

-H-

She had burns on her fingers. She couldn't remember how she got them for a second. Cooking. That's right..They'd transferred her out of home ec to art after she'd started that little conflagration. The cake had kind of burned up and exploded. Fricking cake. Shana wished that it wasn't art class that she'd been transferred into. She did better when she could take notes, focus on the study material. Dive into it and bury herself and the thoughts in her head.

_I'm not coming back._

_This is my fault. If he killed himself…No. It had to be something else. I can't be responsible. And even if he did, it was him, not me, me…_

_I'm not coming back._

_Frick. Focusfocusfocus._

It was becoming something of a chant in her head. The most fucking pathetic thing about it was that he was still around. She'd never realized how much she thought about Dear Ol' Dad, how much he'd influenced her. How fricking alike they were. How much of her life had been spent trying to please him. How much of her life had been spent trying to rebel, which was the Goddamn icing on the cake. Rebel.

Ha. What a fucking rebel. _Fricking hell, how'd that work out for you, pumpkin?_ His dumb nickname for her.

Mom had called her Shawnie -

Oh, God-fricking-dammit, Shana Mae O'Hara. Forget about this. Forget about your fricking issues with Mommy and Daddy. Forget about your fricking issues, period, you dumbass. Nothing gets better from thinking about it.

Not one fricking thing, not one fricking tear.

-H-

Fifteen girls, including Shana, were sitting at the table or standing around the community room for the meeting. The group was a mix of First, Second, Third and Final years, led by Holly Osborn. The supervisor was Mr Brown, the angry monk a year away from retirement. He spent his time sitting in a chair facing a corner, headphones on and tablet in hand, watching funny cat videos. It was a perfect waste of a free hour. Shana mostly picked at a loose string on her uniform sleeve and occasionally counted ceiling tiles.

"Nudism," Holly declared. She slammed her fist down on Taylor's shoulder for emphasis. Taylor turned around and smacked her in retaliation.

There were immediately protests from all corners:

"Nudism? What the hell could we say about nudism?"

"Well, I'm NOT a nudist!"

"I don't know ANY nudists! How is this a pressing issue in our lives?!"

Holly snapped, "Well, it's better than anything you guys have contributed so far -"

Lorraine snorted and shook her head, cornrows jangling. "_We_ haven't contributed _anything_."

Aki Yamato raised her hand. She was the tiny First Year Shana had seen fall on First Day. "Um, communism?"

"Excellent! Anyone _else_ want to contribute?" Holly death-stared across the room at Lorraine.

Lorraine snorted. "Sexuality in the media -"

"Did that last year," Holly interrupted.

Lorraine talked over top of her voice: "Alcohol prohibition, violence in television, legal ages for driving and marriage, international relations -"

Taylor giggled. "You said _relations._"

It was Lorraine's turn to death glare. "An' how is that funny?"

Taylor held her palm up to her face and made exaggerated kissing noises.

"Oh please, great 'Scotchy, kindly spare those who are younger and less perverted than you," Holly intoned.

Taylor kept making kissing noises. Holly threw up her hands in exasperation. "You are so totally getting me back for the stuff I pulled last year, aren't you?"

Taylor grinned and took her hand down from her face. "Yup," she said, pursing her lips to give the _p_ a popping noise.

Shana could not remember ever making such dumb jokes. Of course, she'd kind of skipped the whole friends thing.

"Well, at least spare the poor First Years." Holly turned to Aki. "I mean, how old are you? Nine?"

Aki shook her head and stood up, trying to stretch out her back muscles so she appeared taller than her real height of 4'10". She was the shortest girl at Ambrose. "I'm fourteen."

"Ooh," Holly said, in mock apology. "Sor-_ry_."

Taylor rolled her eyes. "Don't mind Ho." She leaned toward Aki conspiratorially. "She's, like, eighty, but they won't let her graduate until she actually passes a test."

"Hopscotch!" Holly hissed.

Taylor continued. "And she totally has plastic surgery every summer - _and, she __**bleaches her hair."**_

This last bit was said with extra disgust. Aki gasped in an adequate show of horror.

Shana idly wondered if anyone would be willing to shoot her.

Lorraine fake coughed. Coughwastingtimecough.

The therapist had decided that Shana needed more "quality interactions with your peers." This meant joining a club. To be more accurate, joining the Social Activism Club. . _Oh yeah, lots of social interaction here, headshrinker bitch. Why couldn't I just try to get some fricking shut-eye instead of sitting in a corner listening to a banal argument between a bunch of dumbasses?_

It felt good to get mad about something.

_I'm not coming back._

Oh God, JUST SHUT UP. Nothing you can do about that anymore, Shana.

Shana slipped her fingers under the waistband of her skirt and touched the skin on the outside of her hip, directly above the illiac crest. Three straight, even cuts from a Ladyshaver, like a desperate cat's clawing.

_Pathetic._

She decided to go stand out in the corridor. If anyone asked where she was going, she'd say she just needed some air.

No one asked.

Shana slumped down against the hall wall, head on her knees.

_Killed himself._

_I'm not coming back._

She had said that, like a spoiled little brat, a bitch.

The last thing she'd ever said to him. And now she'd have a lifetime to regret it.

The voices from the community room got louder as the girls became increasingly off topic. Shana listened, needing a distraction. They had apparently moved on to talking about children's toys. Chauvinistic children's toys. Anything but the voices in her head… She could tell who was talking, just a bit too cheerily:

_"_Well, I reenacted scenes from history with my Barbies." Holly.

"Oh, really?" That was Taylor, ever the antagonist.

"Yes, really." Holly ticked off the dolls' historical escapades, a note of pride in her voice. "The French Revolution - Ken and Barbie were guillotined; the Donner party - they were served up for dinner -"

"Okay, Holly, that's enough," Lorraine. Interrupting. "I just ate."

"A person?"Cutesy. Innocent.

Shana stood up and looked in, covertly. This was going to be good.

Lorraine grabbed the clipboard from Taylor and smacked Ho upside the head with it - not hard. Holly started to complain.

"Mr Brown, tell Lorri to stop being so _me-an_," she whined loudly.

Mr Brown looked up from his tablet. He resented being interrupted. "Holly, go cool your heels out in the hall."

"But-"

"And don't come back in until you're willing to be a productive member of this meeting," he snapped, pointing towards the door. "Go!"

Shana receded into the shadows and slumped back down on the floor. Holly stomped out the door and, with a dramatic sigh, plopped down next to Irish. "_He-ey_, girl," she said in a chipper voice. "Wonder how those BS'ers will get along without us?"

Shana stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the other girl's presence.

"Don't be a fuck-up, Shana," Holly goaded. The Irish girl did nothing. Time to switch tactics. "You want to go shoot something?"

"Other than crap?" Shana asked, dully.

Holly nodded, yes. Shana caught the motion out of the corner of her eye and turned to the blond. "If you're the target, I'm in."

"Let's go t' the Wreck, then." She stood and reached down to Shana, grabbing her wrist to pull her up.

"Don't touch me."

Holly held her hands up in surrender. _This is just A_, she thought. _Irish is gonna go complain of aggravated shoving or something. Fuck me for trying to be nice. _Shana got up and walked past the blond, with rapid, long strides, being sure to slam her bony shoulder into Holly's side as she passed. The red head threw a look over her shoulder. "You coming, Blondie?"

_I'm not coming back._

Anything, anything at all, so she could stop thinking for five seconds….

-H-

?

-H-

They had been expecting him to talk at the hospital. At least to write. What could he say? He couldn't speak. He couldn't tell them anything, even in sign or writing or pantomime. He had to get back home, back to Jinx. Had to protect her. And O'Hara's daughter, whoever and wherever she might be… He'd promised. Promised. Which was why he was currently barreling down a highway, heading only-God-knows-where in the back of a truck. A dump truck. A dump truck that was currently hauling several tons of dirt. He'd hollowed out a spot for himself and made sure the driver didn't see him. There was a hole in the tarp. He could see the stars. They shone down on his newly-repaired skin.

Skin grafts were difficult to do, especially with most of the patient's skin gone. They'd patched him up, but he'd never be quite the same. He guessed he could live with that. He hoped the Salvation Army could live without the donated clothes he'd stolen. He hated to think of taking from the less fortunate, but, he thought wryly, you don't really get less fortunate than being a mute, hospital-gown clad burn patient on the run.

-H-

THE FINAL YEAR DORM AT AMBROSE

-H-

It was past lights-out, but Shana was not asleep. She was thinking about what had happened. They'd gone to the Wreck, and then got out the archery equipment, Cerberus watching them.

_"The crossbow?" Holly had noticed Shana looking at it. "Yeah, Evans just got that last year. Cool, huh? It shoots different, though. Bolts, instead of arrows. Means the technique's a little different. You'd have to ask her, though, if you want to learn, 'cause I suck."_

Cerberus seemed to like Holly, and after seeing what they were getting, she left them alone, warning them to be careful. They'd set up some targets around the obstacle course and Holly had coached her. After a few dozen shots, Shana had started to hit the targets consistently. No bull's-eyes or anything, but it wasn't like the arrows were flying three yards from the target.

_Holly had grinned, then. "You're a quick learner. Actually hitting the targets. I didn't actually pick that up for a few weeks."_

_Shana had given her a half-smile. It was what was expected. "Oh, I bet."_

_"You do?" Holly had made a mock-angry face, exaggerating a scowl and a frown. Then she laughed. "How the hell did you take me down so quick on First Day anyway?"_

That had shocked Shana. Holly was willing to admit that she had beaten her? And then ask for help?

They had then abandoned archery and started to spar. That was actually…fun. The flurry of punches, kicks, and blocks had cleared her mind and sharpened her senses. It was a good memory to have. Even if Holly wasn't exactly a friend. Friends were fricking overrated anyway. And Shana seemed to screw up every relationship she had ever had.

With anyone.

_I'm not coming back._

Frick.

-H-

A/N: And next chapter, they meet! Still debating whether Chapter 5 will be a two-parter or not, though…

I hope everyone has enjoyed this. I know it's kind of depressing. I did try to make things less gloomy - my first draft was just so completely melancholy, it was no fun to write, so I figured it wouldn't exactly be a treat to read, either. And yeah, Holly and her friends are kind of obnoxious, but maybe it all balances out?


	7. Chapter 5 Part 1

Chapter Five, Part 1: Revelations

-H-

THE CABIN, EVENING

-H-

Jinx sat in the doorway. She didn't want to go outside; it was raining. But she didn't want to be inside either, checking and re-checking the email account she had set up for herself. And, yeah, Sensei's account too - she'd figured out his password. _Jinxdontsnoop _She hoped it was a joke and not a warning, but she kind of figured it was both. Sensei was weird that way. The rain pattered down, hitting the cabin roof. She half-watched the trees. Caught movement from behind one of them. _That_ snapped her to focus. She jumped up and back, retreating into the cabin. Who would be up here? Except…Sensei?

She grabbed a shruiken, a metal throwing star, and clutched it in one hand while opening the door with the other.

A man in a trench coat and a ski mask stared down at her. Jinx screamed at the top of her lungs and dropped the shruiken as she attempted to simultaneously punch him in the solar plexus and knee him between the legs. This maneuver would hopefully cause him to double over so she could get a shot at his head. But he grabbed her arms, pinning them to her sides, and spun her around. Then he walked her into the cabin. She gasped and went limp. The man relaxed his grip and she swung around, this time landing a hard punch - on his arm. He'd blocked her. Then he held both hands, palms out.

"Who the hell are you?"

He didn't answer, instead rolling up the sleeve of the trench coat and the black shirt underneath it. The Arashikage tattoo was clearly visible on his forearm, as were patchy burn marks. Jinx didn't immediately notice the marks, just the tattoo.

"Sensei." Jinx's face split into a grin. "Sensei!" She grabbed him and hugged him, tight. Then she stepped back. "But….what's with the outfit?"

She already knew. "You got hurt."

-H-

AMBROSE MILITARY

-H-

Ms Pierce sat in her office, filing papers. Someone came in. She looked up. It was Miss Evans.

"Rebecca." Pierce closed the file she'd been working on and asked, "What is it?"

"I wanted to talk to you about the O'Hara girl - Shana."

"Yes?"

Evans said nothing.

Pierce gestured to the chair in front of her desk. "Sit down, if you like."

Evans did. "I don't know what to do about that girl."

Pierce gave a little, twisted smile. "I don't think anyone does. I don't, even. She's not like any other student I've had in this school. And the tragedy, with her father's passing…Rebecca, did she ever once cry?"

Evans shrugged. "If she did, I didn't see it. How's her therapy?" Shana was supposed to meet with the school psychologist, Maxine Wells, every few days.

"Ohh," Pierce sighed, "Maxine is absolutely furious with her - and that lady has the patience of a saint normally, I'm telling you. Apparently, Shana is disrespectful and recalcitrant whenever she attempts to get her to talk."

"About her family?"

"About _anything_. All she does is offer up terse one-word answers…usually of the four-letter variety - and that's when she bothers to respond. The rest of the time, she just stares at Maxine. Just stares! It's like she doesn't want to be helped… Has she given you any trouble?"

"Nah. She keeps to herself mostly. Awful skinny looking. But a couple days ago, she went shooting with Holly."

Pierce smoothed the papers on her desk. "Really? So she has a…friend?"

"Looks like it." Evans chuckled.

"What's funny?"

Rebecca remembered First Day.

_She was standing in the doorway, listening to the girls. The pecking order would have to be established sooner or later with this group; she wouldn't interfere unless things got really nasty. _

_"Well, y'know, you're so skinny, Irish," Holly said lightly. "How strong could these scrawny little arms be? I bet you couldn't climb to the top bunk."_

Rebecca opted not to share this little anecdote, instead saying: "You wouldn't know that they're friends, the way they carry on in Karate."

Pierce pushed her pince-nez up on her hooked nose. "Oh? Is Shana good at Karate?"

Evans nodded. "Yep. Her and Holly, they're the two best."

An idea began to form in Pierce's head. "We want our girls to be involved in the community, don't we?"

-H-

A/N: Short, I know. Just setting up for Part Two. :)


	8. Chapter 5 Part 2

Chapter 5 Part 2: Revelations

-H-

AMBROSE MILITARY

-H-

The 'racks were full of girls getting ready for dinner. Then Holly burst in, and all activity stopped as they turned to stare.

"Thank you, GOD!" Holly screeched at the top of her lungs, bouncing up and down. Her hair came loose from her pony tail and she shook it out, hair spilling over her face.

"Whoa, what are you _on_? And who gave it to you?" That was Kasey, in all her ice-queen glory.

"Your mother," Taylor snapped. She never missed a chance to rib Kasey, even though the girls were friends.

"Yeah, I figured. Mama don't love me enough to give me anything like _that_, tho'," Kasey said dryly. "Either that, or she don't wanna pay for when I need rehab. You okay, Ho?"

"Ex-_CELL_-ENT!" Holly bounced over to Kasey and Taylor. "You'll never guess what!"

"What?!" Almost all the girls asked in unison. Even Alana Somers, who usually kept to herself, looked interested.

"Well." Holly smoothed her hair and stopped bouncing. Shana stood in the doorway to the 'racks and watched, half-out-of-sight.

"Well?" Kasey prompted.

'Wuh-ell," Holly said, and coughed.

Taylor smacked her upside the head.

Holly sputtered indignantly: "Child abuser! What was that for?"

"Jus' trying to jar a few brain cells into gear for you, Holly," Lorraine remarked. "That's all she was doing."

"Oy, you shut up. I can do that myself."

Lorraine did not take Holly's advice. "Great. This mean you gonna crack yourself in the head now, or just tell the story?"

"Fine. I'll tell. Ol' Hooknose had decided to unleash Shana and me on the nearest unsuspecting small town." Holly smirked and watched the other girls as they took in the news. Some looked jealous, some looked shocked. Okay, scratch that, everyone looked jealous AND shocked, even Alana.

"_Day-um_. Is anyone warning the townspeople to lock their doors?" Kasey.

"Yeah, isn't there a warrant out for your arrest? Better avoid the cops." Taylor.

"Why?" That was Zoe, the dark-haired girl who'd been paired with Kasey. Zoe was usually quiet, but when she spoke up, she was listened to. The question was echoed: "Yeah, why?"

"Well, there's a martial arts school thingy in Hicksville, apparently. And Hooknose thinks we can go and 'mentor' there as a public service." Holly smirked.

The girls burst out laughing. "Mentor? Oh, sure, what, you mean 'corrupt'? All the poor innocents?" Lorraine spoke through her laughter; the other girls did too.

"The bowling ball at 3 am!"

"The goldfish! Oh god, that was too good."

"Not for the goldfish!"

"And the…..ooohhhh…I think I just broke a rib…"

"Okay, I think we've established that my juvenile pranks have been a source of amusement, but I'm ready to turn over a new leaf and become a productive member of the community. Really." Holly looked very much like the cat who'd got the cream.

"I call bullshit," Lauren spoke up, slamming her fist on a nearby bunk bed post for emphasis.

"Oh really? You gonna cross-examine me? C'mon." Holly turned to Shana in the doorway, who had been watching, amused. "Hey, back me up here, Irish."

Shana sighed and walked away. Same old bullshit. She didn't' want to be involved.

"So uplifting," Lorraine said, straight-faced. She glanced at the clock on the wall. "Alright, we're gonna be late. All you get your asses in gear."

-H-

THE CABIN

-H-

They were sitting on the floor of the cabin - meditating. Sort of.

"You're moping." He spent most of his time moping, running searches on the computer. For what, she didn't know.

Snake Eyes fixed her with a Look. _Am not._

She stared back._ Are so._

"You are SO moping." Jinx stood up. She was sick of meditating. She'd never seen the point of going to her 'quiet place.' "You need to be cheered up. Why don't we have a birthday party?"

He gestured for her to sit back down.

She ignored him. "I mean, when is your birthday anyway? Why not celebrate it now? I mean, I'm really happy you're back…" She hesitated. "Sensei, does it…do the burns…do they hurt?"

He shook his head, no.

"You sure?" Jinx's voice broke. "I mean…are you really okay, or are you just saying that so I won't…annoy you about it?"

He stared at Jinx. The girl could be impulsive and vengeful, but she was deeply loyal and - concerned. She cared. So, he lied. No need to give her more problems.

He finger spelled: "N-O. B-U-R-N-S D-O-N-T H-U-R-T. Y-O-U-R N-O-T A-N-N-O-Y-I-N-G."

She grinned and said prissily, "That's the wrong 'your'. It should be '-re'."

He gestured again for her to sit. She did.

-H-

THREE WEEKS LATER

-H-

"YOU CAN'T! YOU DON'T EVEN _KNOW_ HER!" Jinx was furious. "Sensei, you just showed up…how do I know if you'll come back this time?" She paused. "And…she's probably okay. She's some spoiled rich kid who has a bunch of friends. She's at a private school, even. I mean, she probably didn't even _care _ about her father."

But he wasn't changing his mind. He tapped the computer and held up his phone, a reminder that they had email - a way to contact one another. He gestured downward. There was a small cellar beneath the cabin, where they stored the canned food they bought. _You have food._

"Yeah…I know, okay? I just….don't want you to leave again, Sensei." She looked down at the floor and then back at him. "You don't_ need_ to go. You don't _have to_."

_You don't have to choose a stranger over me._

"I D-O. Y-O-U W-I-L-L B-E O-K. I W-I-L-L B-E B-A-C-K."

He hugged her. That shocked Jinx. Snake Eyes was not one for hugs. She would have hugged him back, but she was stiff with anger.

"T-R-A-I-N."

Then he left, and she was stuck. Once again, alone in the cabin. Once again, training alone.

He hated it. He hated leaving her alone. But he would be back. He would. And he had gone away before, and always come back. This time would not be different. He'd promised Dr. O'Hara that his daughter - Shana - would be taken care of. He'd promised to take care of Jinx, too, and he would. He'd make up the long absences to her. He didn't much like leaving the mountains, but maybe they could go on some sort of trip. Camping maybe? Or even to a town? Something to make her happy.

-H-

A WEEK LATER

-H-

They were cleaning up the dojo after a class. They had rolled up the mats because the varnished wood floors needed to be mopped. They each clung to a mop.

"Didn't exactly disclose manual labor, but you gotta admit, the kids are kind of cute, Irish."

No reply.

"Irish?" Holly sighed. "What's with you today?"

Shana still didn't answer. "Fine. Be a pissy little bitch."Flippant. Not really irritated. Not yet.

No answer.

Being ignored grated on Holly's nerves. ''Okay, fine, nice game, you're playing dumb. "

Holly's snide tone grated on Shana's nerves. "I'm not playing. You'd win automatically, Blondie."

Holly caught on and sneered, "Oh, _that's_ a nice thing to say to your _friend_."

"I wasn't aware I had a friend."Shana turned to Holly, ready for a fight.

That stung. Holly dropped her mop in the sudsy water bucket.

"No, you fucking don't." Holly rounded on Shana. "Not until you learn to deal with your fricking shit, oh-_kay_? Look, I'm sorry about your dad, but that doesn't give you a right to -"

Shana laughed and dropped her mop. "You think this is about my_ father_? Holly, grow _up_. There's no one in the world who's going to force me to deal with that fricking _SHIT_, oh-_kay_?"

She turned and walked out.

"Good lord," Holly hissed. "What a _frickin_' bitch."

What a lonely fricking bitch. Well, when you push people away, that's how it's gotta be. Holly didn't go after her.

Shana felt like a worm. Funny. She sounded like a fricking first grader. _Nobody likes me, everybody hates me / Guess I'll go eat worms._ Holly had tried to reach out to her. But, know what? Better now than later. _Better destroy her before she takes me down._ Best offense is a good defense. She'll be fine, no doubt about that. Both of them would get over it. Teenagers always did. Shana fingered her left wrist. She'd had it sprained when she was a sophomore in another school. Some girls had ganged up on her when one of their boyfriends had flirted with her. Never mind that she hadn't flirted back. It was always the newbie's fault.

She had a couple scars from being shoved and hit with cans. A fricking dent from a baseball bat on her leg. She hadn't even realized that was possible….until it happened. So, of course she fought back. With words, with fists, with the occasional handful of dirt. Whatever worked.

This what you going to do for the rest of your life, pumpkin?

SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP.

She walked down the thin corridor and opened the nearest door, the one that led to the storeroom. She'd get an extra bucket, just as something to do. She flicked on the dim light. Someone was in there, sitting with his back to the door, next to the shelf with the other bucket on it.

Some alarm went off in her head. She immediately went back into clueless-teenage-girl mode, cringing inwardly. "Oh, hi. Is -"

He turned around and finger spelled. "H-E-L-L-O."

Shana knew how to fingerspell. She'd learned to from Da. The man was wearing a black, long-sleeved t-shirt, black pants, boots, and a ski mask. Tall. A little taller than six feet, maybe 6'2". Muscular, but not heavily muscled - more like a martial artist than a body-builder. He'd lost condition lately and his finger spelling was…off. Halted, jerky. He'd been injured.

And she had no idea who the hell he was, or why he assumed she knew finger spelling. She made sure she had a hand on the door.

"Who are you?" Polite.

"S-A-M. I W-O-R-K H-E-R-E. M-A-N-T-E-N-E-N-C-E."

_You misspelled 'maintenance.'_ She decided not to share this with him.

"Okay, Sam. I work here. Why didn't anyone tell me about you?" Still polite.

"I D-O-N-T K-N-O-W. B-O-S-S F-O-R-G-E-T-F-U-L." He knew she was still suspicious. "O-N B-R-E-A-K. Y-O-U." He raised his hands up, palms out, and shrugged.

She realized the last bit was supposed to be a question. "Nah. Just came to get an extra bucket."

He handed her one. Shana walked out of the supply closet and went to track down the owner of the dojo, Sam's 'Boss.'

Mr. T, as everyone called him, was a friendly man of Japanese heritage. He had only stubs on his left hand, instead of fingers - the result of a childhood accident. He was just taller than Shana, and absentminded about anything not directly related to Karate or his beloved kids - his two daughters and the others who came to learn at his dojo. He was in the office, filling out coffee-stained paperwork, when Shana entered, still holding the bucket.

"Hey, Mr T, does Sam work for you?"

"What?" Mr T looked up, his eyes bleary behind the silver frames of his glasses. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you, not when I was trying to do this paperwork…nobody in America writes in English anymore, I swear…"

"Sam. Does he work here?"

"Sam? Oh yes, he does. Not long. Showed up looked for a job after Bobby quit. He was in an accident a few months ago, his job let him go. Said he needed the money. Wears a ski mask now, his skin is all kinda patchy. Think he's embarrassed about it. But he's a good boy. Used to live in Japan. Apparently, his mother's sister lived there and the whole family relocated….has a girlfriend a couple towns over, asked if he could go visit every once in a while on the off days, if there was a bus. Good work ethic, that one. Admit I don't know him very well… I thought I mentioned him to you girls." Mr T paused. "What, he bothering you? You want me to talk to him?"

"Nah, I just stumbled on him in the supply closet."

"Yeah, he goes there during his break to meditate. Hey, have you seen a green-tabbed file?"

Shana scanned the desk and pointed. "There."

She had made up her mind to watch Sam. Something about him didn't seem quite right, even though what Mr T said was plausible.

-H-

Snake Eyes had been watching her. His first impression was a superficial one: that she was pretty. And definitely too skinny. Green eyes, clear skin, red hair. Fine-featured. Probably about 5'6". Good with the kids, but disinterested. He'd caught a glimpse of the demonstration Mr T had had Holly and Shana do - basic blocks, punches, and kicks. Both girls moved gracefully and assuredly. It was clear they each had experience in martial arts. And, from the conversation he'd overheard between them - maybe not friends. But, she'd been polite to him.

_"There's no one in the world who's going to force me to deal with that fricking SHIT, oh-kay?"_

She hadn't sounded bitchy. She'd sounded….raw.

Based on what he knew about her (which wasn't much), she'd been kicked around a lot and had a rocky relationship with her father.

He wanted to talk to her again. She had a mystery. She was a mystery

And…he'd promised.

-H-

A/N: Did this one rather quickly…like it as of now, but that's subject to change. I know, Shana's being kinda dumb. Yes, more ninja next chapter…oh, and the Baroness is going to make a comeback at some point.

I love hearing what people think - thanks for the reviews! Now on to the next…


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